Strays
by Evil Cosmic Triplets
Summary: Stiles has a habit of bringing strays home. If he keeps this up, they're going to need a much bigger bed. (Sterek fluff, definite relationship). Latest installment: Derek is away at a summit. Stiles is at home with the twins, and there's a little bit of chaos.
1. Home

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters of this work of fiction. I don't even own the strays. I am making no profit, monetary or otherwise, through the writing of this.

**A/N:** Inspired by the following writing prompt, given to my by a friend, "character A keeps bringing strays home, how does character B react?" I believe that it is from the OTP prompt post on tumblr, which I am not very savvy at navigating.

* * *

The first stray that Stiles brings home is a puppy.

It's not cute.

It's not fluffy.

Looks like it's just a breath away from being considered road kill, but Derek doesn't have the heart to say anything about it. Lets Stiles keep it, nurse it back to health. Hoping that, once it's better, they'll find a home for it.

Over time, the puppy starts to resemble a puppy rather than a patchy bit of fur that Stiles found by the side of the road.

It eventually gets a name. Fluffy.

Learns how to snuggle.

Stops smelling like skunk and death.

Starts to take over Derek's half of the bed, wedging itself between the boy and the wolf.

The next stray that Stiles brings home is not a puppy.

Derek has no idea what the bit of fur and teeth and nails is for a full week and a half. Tries not to poke and prod it, because it would upset Stiles.

Tries to ignore the foul stench that emanates from it. A cross between Stiles' sweaty gym socks and dead 'possum.

Tries not to cast what Stiles calls his 'alpha eyes' in the creature's direction for fear of pushing it over the thin bridge of mortality that it's clearly dangling off of.

Tries not to growl at the little spitfire when it finally starts to take shape and inserts itself on the pillow between him and Stiles.

It's a cat. A helpless kitten, according to Stiles, but Derek knows better. It's a minion of hell, and Derek's got the scratch marks to prove it.

It, too, gets a name. Eventually. He and Stiles argue over it, and in the end, Stiles wins, but Derek secretly calls,Muffin, Little Hellion, hopes that Stiles won't find out about it, because he would never hear the end of it.

When Stiles brings yet another stray home, Derek decides that it's time to put his foot down, to declare their home, such as it is, a stray-free zone.

One look at the sad, blue eyes, matched with the severely malnourished body, and Derek's a goner.

He can't turn it away.

Wouldn't if he could.

He ignores the smug look on Stiles' face. Refuses to coddle the emaciated creature, pretends that one it was one of the others – Isaac – who's handfed the pathetic looking beast.

Doesn't mind when the young she wolf sprawls across his side of the bed, laying a paw on his shoulder.

She finally gets a name.

After much consideration, and weeks of careful deliberation.

Indigo.

When Stiles comes home, shoulders hunched, clutching his next woeful stray to his chest, Derek doesn't comment, doesn't stick his nose in the air to 'sniff'.

Knows that soon, it too, will have a name, a place on their bed.

Doesn't mind, because, in the end, he loves Stiles, and if taking care of the strays makes Stiles happy, well, then it makes him happy too.

Though, Derek reasons that if Stiles keeps it up, they're going to have to get a bigger bed.

* * *

Please, review, feed the strays. Let me know if you like this, give me hope and love.


	2. Jumping on the Bed

**Disclaimer:** See initial drabble.

**A/N:** Just felt like writing something fluffy tonight before I went to bed...not going to jump on my bed, most certainly not.

* * *

"A king-sized bed? For m…us?" Stiles sounds giddy and he tests out the bed by sitting on the edge, and then bouncing on it.

"It's…springy," Stiles decides. He crawls to the center of the bed and starts jumping on it.

"Uh, Stiles…" Derek watches from the sidelines, growing slightly dizzy.

Stiles jump-walks over to him, reaches a hand out toward Derek. He's surprisingly strong, pulls Derek up onto the bed with him.

And, they bounce, because the bed's springy and Stiles is jumping, and Derek either has to join in or fall flat on his ass.

And, well, it's kind of fun, even if Derek won't admit it aloud.

Can't, because he knows that he'd never live it down.

Isaac and Scott are in the other room, watching TV; some ridiculous teenage vampire show that's heavier on the angst and the drama than it is on the supernatural elements.

They're kissing.

Making out on his couch, surrounded by the various strays that Stiles has brought home.

And Derek is trying_ not_ to notice, trying to 'be cool' with it, trying to focus on Stiles and the bed and the bouncing.

Trying not to give into the temptation to smile, or growl, or lose control and drag Stiles down onto the bed, show the younger man that there are other uses for a king-sized bed than trying to jump high enough to touch the ceiling.


	3. Puppies are Irresistable and so is Scott

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** I think someone mentioned in a review, or a PM, about Isaac and Scott, and this idea came to me tonight, so I thought I'd write it down. I hope it is to people's liking.

* * *

"Don't," Derek whispers, placing a hand on Isaac's arm and looking him square in the eye. "Don't let it happen to you, too."

Derek's eyes are wide, almost fearful, and he grips Isaac's arm so tightly that Isaac fears he's going to break it. Wouldn't be the first time his arm's been broken, but he'd like to avoid that.

"It's a puppy!" Stiles' voice, filled with excitement, floats to them from the living room. Derek closes his eyes, sighs and rests his head against Isaac's shoulder.

"It's already begun," Derek says, raising his head. "It's too late for me, but it's not too late for you. You can still talk some sense into Scott."

Stiles bounds into the room, a squirming puppy in his arms licking his face. Scott follows close behind, eyes locked on the puppy, a small smile on his face. He catches Isaac's eye, and Isaac's heart skips a beat. He understands what Derek was warning him about, but it's too late, because he could never say no to Scott, and, besides, he likes puppies too.


	4. His Heart

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** When I got up this morning, this idea was there, and I went with it. A little less fluffy than the last few have been.

* * *

"No." Derek puts his foot down. Quite literally. And a little too hard if the tingling in his foot is anything to go by.

He refuses to look at the pathetic little creature that Stiles has brought home this time. Remains firm in his resolve even when it snuffles.

Refuses the urge he has to scent the air and determine what manner of creature his soulmate has brought into their refuge.

No doubt it's a puppy, or a kitten, or something completely hideous - like a blind, scaleless snake or a one-legged chicken. With a house already overrun with all manner of animals, Derek has to draw the line somewhere.

"But -"

"No," Derek repeats, more firmly, though this time he keeps his foot right where it is, and shakes his head. "Absolutely not."

Their home is a menagerie, a veritable zoo, and Derek has had enough. Surely even Stiles understands that there has to be a limit on how much animal charity a single couple can show without it becoming a danger to the animals themselves. Too many animals, and they run the risk of neglect.

Stiles' eyes fill with tears, but he nods his acceptance, and turns on his heel, kneels. Derek's resolve cracks, just a little. The only time he'd been good at saying no to Stiles was when they'd first met, before the prophecy, before the change in Stiles and himself, before he'd fallen in love.

Derek closes his eyes before the sight of Stiles kneeling, speaking quietly and apologetically to the creature, shatters his resolve completely. He inhales, deeply, and his eyes snap open as he recognizes the scent.

His heart skips a beat, and then he's kneeling too, hand on the small of Stiles' back. Any measure of resolve that Derek had possessed has disappeared at the sight before him.

"Where'd you find them?" Derek whispers, because the pair is trembling and their hazel eyes are wide with fear.

"At the edge of the woods," Stiles says. "I'd have brought them to my father, but..."

"No, you did the right thing in bringing them here," Derek says.

Stiles turns to him, eyes shining, a wide smile on his face. He throws his arms around Derek and hugs him, kisses him on the mouth, and whispers, "Thank you," in his ear.

Derek stiffens, a wary eye on the pair Stiles had brought home with him. They're feral and so damn small that the thought of caring for them, of nursing them to health, is a truly terrifying prospect. One wrong move, and they run the risk of losing them to the wild, or worse.

Still, Stiles is right, the two will not do well in the general public. At least not yet. Not when they are still so small, so frail, so incapable of caring for themselves.

"You'll be a good father," Stiles says, guessing at the reason for Derek's unease. "And I'll make sure that you don't turn them into a couple of brooding killjoys." There's a note of teasing in Stiles' voice that takes the sting out of his words, and he turns his head, buries his face into Derek's neck.

"Can we keep them?" Stiles asks, voice muffled by Derek's neck, lips tickling his collarbone, raising goosebumps along Derek's flesh.

They're twins, a little boy and a little girl - were creatures. Dirty, disheveled hair twined with bits of twigs and leaves; faces covered with mud and infected scratch marks; wearing nothing, but a set of threadbare, ratty rags.

"Please? They're all alone. Their family's dead," Stiles' voice is thick, and Derek's heart clenches. Stiles nuzzles Derek's neck, begging when he doesn't need to.

"Of course they can," Derek says. His resolve's completely disintegrated. He wonders how they're going to do this, and is grateful that he's got Stiles by his side, because, animal menagerie aside, the young man is his heart.


	5. Four AM Lullaby

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** I'm in the mood to write fluff. I appreciate the feedback from reviewers, and hope this is to your liking. Let me know. I used Written?Kitten to write this; I rather enjoyed the incentive of a kitten popping up every hundredth word.

* * *

Derek holds his head in his hands and groans. Not again, he thinks, sighing loudly, because, if he has to deal with this at four in the morning,so should Stiles. After all, he was the one who'd brought them home.

That first night, they'd gotten the twins cleaned up, though it hadn't been without their fair share of injuries. Stiles had wound up with a black eye and several scratches on his forearms. Derek had ended up with a broken nose, which, while it healed fairly quickly, was hardly pleasant. He, too, had ended up with multiple scratches, and some bites, on his arms and even on his face.

The twins were, indeed, quite feral, but they had cleaned up fairly nicely, revealing pale skin dotted with freckles, and light blond hair. Neither of them talked, and Dr. Deaton had estimated that they were about three or four years of age. They were both malnourished, and if Stiles hadn't found them when he had, they would not have survived much longer.

"What time is it?" Stiles asks, yawning and turning to look at Derek, head propped up on his hand. He's still lying beneath the covers, hair disheveled, cheeks pink with the warmth of sleep, eyelashes fluttering against them as he struggles to open his eyes.

"Four," Derek grunts, glaring at the clock.

He's sitting up in bed, blankets, sheets and one angry, hissing kitten pushed off to the side. Having heard one of the twins whimper ten minutes ago, he's trying to ignore the sound.

Stiles' father, after expressing his misgivings over Derek and Stiles raising the wild duo on their own, had suggested that they try to get the twins to sleep through the night. He'd told them that, instead of jumping out of bed at the first sign of discontent, they should wait it out, let the twins learn to soothe had worked with Stiles.

It's their first night of attempting this method, and Derek's not sure that he can let the pathetic sounding mewls continue for much longer. Stiles might have learned how to self soothe under this particular method, but Derek's not so sure that the twins, who lost their parents almost a year and a half ago, are capable of that. They're still so small, so fragile.

Stiles punches his pillow and flops onto his back. Derek can see him fist his hands into the sheets, and knows that the sounds coming from the twins' room are getting to him as well.

"Should we...?" Stiles opens one eye to peer at Derek. He casts his eyes toward the door, and bites his lip.

"I don't know, your dad said..." Derek tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowing to slits when the sound of the whimpering changes slightly.

Before he even realizes what he's doing, he's out of the bed, not caring about his naked state, and rushing to the twins' room. He tears the door open in his haste to get to the pair. Stiles, sheet wrapped around his naked body, is right behind him.

One of the twins, they've been calling her Ruby because of her perpetually rosy red cheeks, holds her thin arms up to Derek, and opens and closes her fingers, in a clear indication that she wants to be picked up.

Tears glisten in her eyes, and she's sniffling, her little chest heaving almost painfully. Her bottom lip pops out and starts to tremble, and Derek's heart feels like it's being wrenched from him.

He quickly plucks the little girl, the werecat, from her crib, and cradles her to his chest, rocking and shushing her. Kissing her curly blond locks, he promises her that she's alright, that he's not going to let anything harm her. She presses her face into Derek's neck, and starts to calm down, grabs a fistful of Derek's hair and sucks on it.

The other,Thomas, because he looks very much like a baby tomcat, according to Stiles, holds his arms out for Stiles to pick him up. His cheeks are wet with tears, but he doesn't make a sound. He never does, even when he's crying, and Derek wonders why that is, but is almost afraid of the answer.

He's been meaning to speak with Isaac about it - knowing that he'd suffered abuse at the hands of his father - see if he might have any insight into the little boy's silence. But there never seems to be time, and Isaac and Scott are busy with their new puppy.

Stiles picks the little boy up and croons to him. He paces in front of the little boy's crib, rubbing circles into his back, and whispering comforting words to him. Derek is too busy soothing little Ruby that he can't hear what Stiles is saying, but it makes Thomas, tiny hand clutching at the sheet that Stiles is wearing, smile.

Eyelids droop, and breathing evens out as the twins finally fall asleep, ensconced in Derek and Stiles' arms, heads lolling heavily against chests. Derek catches Stiles' eye, gives him a wary smile and stifles a yawn.

The sun's rising as they make their way back to bed, each with a twin held securely in their arms.


	6. Lub

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** delia cerrano's question inspired this chapter. I'm not sure how I feel about it, to be honest...but I do like writing Derek and Stiles as parents for some reason.

* * *

Doctor Deaton looks from Stiles to Derek and gives them a look that's not quite a smile. Stiles reaches for Derek's hand, and, though he's nervous about what Deaton's about to say, he gives it a reassuring squeeze, wanting - needing - to be the stronger one.

Deaton clears his throat and sighs. "There's no easy way to say this."

"What is it, Deaton? What's wrong with Thomas?" Derek says, his nerves making him snap at the doctor. He just wants to know what's wrong, whatever it is, so that they can fix it. He doesn't even consider the possibility that they might not be able to fix Thomas' broken voice.

Stiles squeezes his hand and Derek looks at his soul-mate, his partner, the young man he loves more than anything else in this world. Stiles is giving him a look that begs him to be patient, to not bite off Deaton's head. Derek takes a deep breath, breathes in the unique mixture of scents that is Stiles - lavender, chocolate chip cookies, and, oddly,lemons. It's soothing.

"I'm sorry," Derek apologizes, which doesn't come easy for him, and is something that he didn't do before he met Stiles.

Deaton shakes his head. "There's no need to apologize, I understand that you're concerned."

"What did you find out? What's wrong? Why can't Thomas speak? Is it reversible? Will he heal? Is it even a physical condition, or is it something psychological, or emotional? Will we be able to fix it? How can we help him?"

The questions spill out of Stiles like water through a sieve, and he's gasping for air by the time he's finished, clutching at Derek's hand so tightly that it's a wonder the bones don't break. He's on the verge of a panic attack, and Derek pulls him closer, willing him to calm down and breathe, forcing himself to be calm so that he can share some of that energy with Stiles and keep the situation from escalating. Keep Stiles from hyperventilating.

Deaton holds up a hand to forestall any further questions. "Thomas' vocal cords have suffered extensive damage and scarring. Whether from head or neck trauma or trauma during his birth, or disease is unclear. If he'd been found sooner, closer to when the damage had occurred, surgery and therapy could help him to regain use of his voice, but -"

"So, you're saying that Thomas will never be able to speak?" Stiles asks, looking to Derek for support.

"It's very unlikely," Deaton says. "The damage is very extensive; I'm surprised that he doesn't have any respiratory trouble."

"What are our options?" Derek asks, not willing to believe that there's nothing that can be done for the child.

"At this point in time, my professional advice is to continue doing what you're doing. Provide a good, safe, loving home for Thomas and his sister," Deaton says.

"That's it? You're giving up, just like that?" Stiles stands, pulls his hand from Derek's and starts to pace in the small room.

"I am sorry," Deaton says, sounding weary. "I wish that I had better news."

"That's okay," Derek says, but it isn't. "It's not your fault."

Stiles brushes at angry tears and punches the wall. It's uncharacteristic of the younger man, and something that Derek feels like doing himself. Instead, he pulls Stiles back against his chest and holds him until he calms down.

"What about a voice box transplant?" Stiles asks, once he's got himself under control and is no longer trying to tear apart the office.

"There've only been two of those performed in the entire world, and it's still a very controversial surgery," Deaton replies. "I don't believe that is the best course of action for Thomas, especially given all that he and his sister have been through, and given what he is. Their survival in the woods, alone, at such a young age is nothing short of a miracle; I'm not sure that we can push that envelope."

Stiles sags against Derek's chest and seems to deflate. Derek leads him back to the chairs they vacated, and sits, pulling Stiles onto his lap, needing the closeness of skin on skin contact as he kisses the back of Stiles' neck and looks to Deaton for something to ease the hopelessness that's emanating from Stiles.

"Right now what Thomas needs is consistency in his life. He needs a safe environment, which I believe that you two can provide for him. He also needs regular meals. Both Thomas and Ruby are suffering from malnutrition, and have improved in the short amount of time that they've been with you, but they still have a long way to go before they're completely out of the woods," Deaton says, grimacing. "You are giving them what they need right now. It'll take time and patience and a lot of love."

"Love's not going to give Thomas a voice," Derek says.

"Maybe not," Deaton counters, "but it'll give him something stronger than that. It'll give him hope and a chance at life. You don't have to be able to speak to have a voice."

"What about supernatural healing?" Stiles asks, craning his neck to look at Derek. "I mean, couldn't you...you know?"

"It's something to consider," Deaton says. "Though, you've got to ask yourselves if it's what's best for Thomas."

"How could it not be what's best for Thomas?" Stiles shakes his head and leans back against Derek, resting his cheek on Derek's chest.

"He's been without a voice for a long time now," Deaton says. "Possibly for the entirety of his life. For him, it's not something that he's missing. Suddenly having a voice might be overwhelming for him, and, once he does have it, he might opt not to use it. And what if it doesn't work?"

A knock on the office door causes all three of them to turn in their seats. Isaac pops his head in the door with a smiling Thomas hugging his knees and a giggling Ruby sitting on his shoulders, arms wrapped a little too tightly around his neck.

"Sorry to interrupt," Isaac wheezes out. "Uh, I think they're hungry." He gives them a sheepish look and holds up his hand which has a pair of reddened bite marks on it.

"We'll talk later," Deaton says.

"I'm so sorry," Stiles apologizes, reaching for Ruby who shakes her head and stubbornly holds her arms out for Derek to take her.

Stiles rolls his eyes and is nearly bowled over by Thomas who transfers his hold from Isaac's legs to Stiles'. Stiles plucks the little boy up and Thomas gives him a kiss on the cheek and hugs him around the neck.

"I take it you missed us, huh?" Stiles asks, and Derek can hear the happy tears in his lover's voice.

Thomas pulls back and nods though he reaches for Isaac's shirt and gathers a fistful of the fabric, pulling the other boy toward them.

"Uh..." Isaac stutters, blushing when Thomas pats him on the cheek and smiles. "You're welcome?"

Thomas hides his face in Stiles' neck, though he doesn't loosen his hold on Isaac's shirt.

"You want your Uncles Isaac and Scott to come to lunch with us?" Stiles asks.

Ruby squirms in Derek's arms, claps her hands and reaches for Isaac. Though she can make sounds, she's not yet spoken, and Deaton has assured them that, when she's older and is accustomed to hearing speech, she will learn how to talk. Derek hopes so, though, given who one of her role models is, he wonders if speech really is all that it's cracked up to be. There's no doubt in his mind that, when Ruby does start to talk, she'll be a real chatterbox, like Stiles.

Isaac raises his eyes to look at the doctor, who waves his hands and says, "You and Scott can take the rest of the afternoon off. I've got some things to do around here. Go, enjoy yourselves."

Isaac smiles widely, and Derek wonders how the puppy is working out for him and Scott, if they've adopted more critters, if they, too, wound up getting a bigger bed. Ruby brings him back to the present, placing her hands on either side of Derek's face and kissing him on the nose.

"Lub," she says in a voice that's gravelly and almost too low to hear. She blushes and hugs Derek's neck, and sucks her thumb as though unsure of herself.

It's the most beautiful thing that Derek's heard, and he blindly reaches for Stiles' hand, eyes suddenly blocked by tears that he doesn't understand.

"I love you, too, Ruby," Derek says, heart thundering in his chest as he holds the little girl tightly, the world tilting on its axis, making him dizzy. He's grateful that he's got Stiles there, to ground him.

"Love and shelter," Deaton repeats as he sends them on their way.

Maybe it will be enough, Derek thinks, though, now that Ruby's talking, he wonders just how peaceful things will be.


	7. Date Night

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Inspiration came from the reviews, thank you. Delia Cerrano, there's a brief nod to your review in this. Thank you.

* * *

"We've got it, Derek," Scott says, smiling and not so kindly shoving him, and Stiles, toward the door.

"It's only for a couple of hours," Stiles says, and Derek silently begs the younger man not to finish that thought, because he's already worried enough about this excursion they're taking into town without fateful words that could possibly jinx it all.

"It'll be okay. Ruby and Thomas love Scott and Isaac," Stiles continues, now babbling, and Derek realizes that he's just as nervous as him.

"They'll be fine," Stiles adds in a voice that isn't very convincing.

"We don't have to do this," Derek says, one hand on the car door.

He's looking back toward the house. All he needs is just one word from Stiles, and they will go back to the house and spend a quiet night at home. Well, as quiet as their nights can be with the unique collection of animals, and now children, that they have living in their home.

"Oh, no you don't Mr. Tall Dark and Broody," Stiles says, shaking his head and shoving Derek. "No. We are going out. Scott and Isaac are perfectly capable of taking care of the twins."

"I know," Derek says, though he has his doubts. The young werewolves are very competent, but they're still so young and naive and juvenile.

"Good," Stiles says, and he slides into the passenger's seat of the car, pushes Derek's door open. "Let's get this show on the road."

Derek tamps down on the urge that he has to go back to the house and check on the twins one last time. He gets behind the wheel of the car, and before his resolve breaks, he starts the engine and pulls out of the driveway so fast that it sends gravel flying like shrapnel.

"Easy there," Stiles says, holding onto the door so that he doesn't slide across the seat.

"Did you tell them what time to put the twins to bed?" Derek asks, once they're on the road.

"Relax Papa Wolf," Stiles says, rolling his eyes. "Bedtime routine, emergency numbers and what is and is not allowed has all been discussed, at length. They're fine. Besides, this is good for us, we haven't been out in...well, I can't remember the last time we were out on a date. Have we been on a date? I mean, officially?"

Derek takes a deep breath and forces himself not to grip the steering wheel too tightly. Forces himself not to turn the car around and see, for himself, how the twins are. It's rankling, this feeling that he has, and he doesn't like it at all.

Stiles lays a hand on his arm, and Derek relaxes, slightly, beneath his soul-mate's touch.

"We'll call them as soon as we reach the restaurant," Stiles says, "well, maybe after we've ordered appetizers. We don't want them to think that we don't trust them."

"Appetizers?" Derek can feel his eyebrows creep up his forehead, creating the look that he knows Stiles calls his caterpillar brow.

Ruby's started calling him, 'ca'r peeler,'as a result. Her voice is no longer gravelly, but more husky in tone and Derek has a feeling that he's going to have to invest in a shotgun when she reaches her teens. That, or a ten-foot pole.

"Yes, appetizers, an entree, salad and a dessert." Stiles has a dreamy look on his face. "The whole nine yards. I want to be wined and dined, and then, well..." Stiles trails off, face turning a lovely shade of pink.

"I see," Derek says, and he has to clear his throat and dig his mind up out of the gutter that it has plunged itself into at Stiles' insinuated promise.

He nearly swerves into oncoming traffic when Stiles places a hand on his thigh and squeezes, recovers just in time to avoid hitting a pickup truck. The blare of horns and squealing wheels accompanies his near miss and he glares at Stiles who merely smiles at him innocently.

"Do we have to order dessert?" Derek asks, mind temporarily derailed from thoughts of the twins in favor of thinking about Stiles in all manner of undress - eyes bright, lips full and pouting, long limber limbs wrapped around his waist. He presses the gas pedal down to the floor of the car and prays that there aren't any speed traps on their route to the restaurant, he doesn't want to have to explain a car chase to Stiles' father, especially not with where his mind is right now.

Stiles rubs his hand along the inside Derek's thigh, and Derek draws in a sharp breath. Everything seems sharper, the air crisper, Stiles' scent is more pungent. It's a come on, and Derek wants to pull the car off to the side of the road and enjoy the real meal right now.

"Stiles," he breathes in the word, nearly choking on it.

"Got your mind off of the twins, didn't I?" Stiles asks in an almost purr.

"How about if we just order appetizers, to go?" Derek asks. Stiles' hand is resting high on his thigh now, and he's having a hard time breathing.

"I want a real date," Stiles says, pouting. "You know, like regular people do when they're in love."

"We're not regular people," Derek says. "We're us."

"Please?" Stiles asks, fingers brushing against the outer edge of Derek's zipper, clearly toying with him.

Gone is the shy teen that Derek had met three years ago. He's been replaced by something that's wholly other. Derek's not complaining, though he wishes that they could fast-forward through dinner so that he could get to the main course of the night that Stiles has planned for them.

Suddenly, he's not so worried about Scott and Isaac and how the twins are doing. He's much more worried about how he'll make it through dinner without coming undone.

* * *

Reviews encourage me to write, and let me know that my writing is worthwhile.


	8. Three Hours is a Lifetime

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Inspiration is totally Written?Kitten! and the two reviewers that I have - thank you. :-)

* * *

Derek answers the phone on the third ring, completely out of breath, and with a sobbing Thomas clutched to his chest. "Stiles?"

"Uh, sorry, no, it's Scott."

"Tell me Stiles is with you," Derek says.

It's only been a couple of hours since the younger man left, and it feels like the house is falling apart. Really, as an Alpha, he should be able to handle a household of animals and two werecats on his own. He shouldn't need any help.

"Sorry," Scott apologizes again. "He's not here...Derek, is everything okay?"

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder as he tries to bounce Thomas in his arms the way that Stiles does when the little boy is inconsolable. It isn't working. Nothing is working.

Thomas wants Stiles, not Derek. It's always been that way, since day one. Ruby had taken to Derek and Thomas to Stiles.

With Stiles out for the afternoon, though, Derek is alone with the twins and with the hellcat who is currently launching itself at his ankles and scratching him every chance that she can get. Derek growls at the cat when she strikes his ankle for what must be the millionth time since Stiles left, and the cat simply settles back on her haunches and licks her paw.

"Do you want Isaac and I to come over?" Scott asks, voice filled with worry.

Yes, yes, yes... "No," Derek says instead, and he sighs when Thomas arches his back and tries to flip out of his arms. He manages to keep a firm grip on the unhappy toddler and not lose the phone, but it's close.

"Why'd you call, McCall?" Derek asks, snapping at the younger werewolf as Thomas starts to kick at his side.

"Um...it's nothing really, it can wait until Stiles is home," he says.

"Just tell me what you want," Derek spits the words out, and Thomas' breath hitches, he turns fearful eyes on Derek and starts to tremble, making the signs for, 'sorry,' and 'down'. They've been learning sign language as a family, something that Thomas is becoming very adept at.

Shit.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Derek coos and he presses his forehead to Thomas', hoping that the gesture that Stiles often uses with the little boy will work for him as well.

"It sounds like your hands are full," Scott says, and before Derek can tell him not to, he hangs up.

The dial tone is loud in his ear, and Derek simply releases the phone, lets it drop to the floor where it continues to issue a high-pitched, irritating sound. Derek entertains the thought of smashing the phone beneath the heel of his book, but sanity prevails, what little of it that he's got left, and he simply ignores the phone and walks out of the kitchen.

Thomas is watching him warily, still signing that he wants, 'down'. The little boy is unhappy. He misses Stiles. Derek can't really blame him, he misses Stiles too.

Ruby is sitting on the living room floor, surrounded by a slew of crayons - some broken, and some used down to the very nub. She's currently scribbling away on a fresh sheet of paper, her other art projects strewn around the entirety of the living room depicting everything from her new family to something dark and sinister that Derek is almost afraid to learn about, because he's not sure he will know what to say or how to comfort the little girl when he's not yet learned how to deal with his own demons.

"Papa!" Ruby exclaims, dropping the red crayon she'd been holding so tightly in her tiny fist that it was a wonder it didn't break. She jumps up from the floor, grabs one of her drawings and shoves it at his knees.

"It's you, and Dada," she says, a proud smile on her face.

Derek looks down at the drawing. It looks like a series of squiggles - Derek assumes that he's the red squiggly line and that Stiles is the blue squiggly line.

"It's beautiful, just like you," Derek says, smiling and setting Thomas down on the floor, in favor of taking the proffered paper from Ruby.

Thomas scrambles away from him, and struggles to pull himself up onto the couch. Derek has to force himself to not help the little boy, because he knows that Thomas wants to do it by himself. Something that has become a regular thing recently.

When Thomas finally succeeds in climbing up onto the couch, he settles down into the corner that Stiles typically sits in, and curls up in it. He sighs contentedly and smiles. Derek sits down beside him, picking Ruby up to set her on his lap.

"Watch Sesame?" Ruby asks, tilting her head up to look at Derek, a hopeful look on her face.

Derek frowns, unsure if the twins' favorite show is on right now, but he grabs the remote control off of the coffee table and turns on the TV. Flipping through the channels, he finally finds a show that's suitable for kids, and puts his feet up onto the table, rests his head against the back of the couch.

Thomas inches over, nudges at Derek's arm. Without looking at the little boy, afraid of spooking him like he had earlier, Derek lifts his arm, waits until the little boy gets comfortable, and then settles it on the little boy's back. Thomas cuddles up beside him, and tucks his thumb into his mouth - a self-comforting habit which Deaton had suggested would go away once Thomas started to feel more secure with them.

Ruby places a hand on Derek's arm and rubs at the hair on it. Her own method of self-comfort. She settles her head on his chest, and it's not long before all three of them fall asleep. Derek and Ruby snoring softly.

Derek wakes to the sound of whispering and something clicking,though he doesn't open his eyes right away, because he's comfortable. He feels overly heated, and like he's been weighted down by something. He reaches out for that something when it's suddenly being removed from his lap, and his eyes snap open.

"I'm just going to put them down in their beds," Stiles whispers.

Scott's got a slumbering Thomas in his arms and Stiles has Ruby. Isaac is standing, almost idly, in front of the TV, a cell phone in hand and a grin locked firmly in place. It takes a few seconds for Derek to realize the significance of that, and then he's off the couch, wrestling the phone from Isaac's hand, searching through the wolf's pictures.

"Can I get a copy of this one?" Derek asks, suddenly no longer embarrassed by the thought of pictures being taken of him while he's sleeping.

"Sure," Isaac says, taking his phone from Derek's hand and smiling shyly as he sends the picture to Derek's cell.

Derek's mouth is open, head laying on the back of the couch; it's an unflattering look for him, but that's not why he wants the picture. He wants it because of how it's captured the twins - holding hands, Thomas fisting the fabric of Derek's shirt, pressed tightly against his side. They both have the most peaceful looks that Derek has ever seen on their faces, smiles tugging at their lips, no worry lines bunching their foreheads.

"Thank you," Derek says, giving Isaac a one-armed hug.

"Hey, hands off my man," Scott and Stiles say at the same time.

Derek winks at Scott and kisses the top of Isaac's head before releasing him.

"You really have tamed the broody beast," Scott says, looking at Stiles, a measure of awe in his voice.

Derek chooses to ignore the snickering in favor of walking over to Stiles and grabbing him around the waist and kissing him soundly.

"Welcome home, please don't ever leave me again," he says, resting his forehead against Stiles'.

Stiles laughs. "I was only gone for three hours. And, uh, we kind of have an audience right now," Stiles says breathlessly, eyes darting toward where Scott and Isaac are standing when Derek growls and nips playfully at his neck.

"Felt like days," Derek confesses.

"I take it you missed me," Stiles teases.

"We all missed you," Derek says, throwing his arm wide to show the vast array of color crayons and pictures on the floor, and pulling Stiles close as though afraid to let go.

"They're both whipped," Isaac whispers to Scott.

"Maybe we'd better get going," Scott says, but Derek pays little attention to them, because he's got an armful of Stiles and three hours had felt like a lifetime.


	9. Slipper

**Disclaimer:** see initial chapter

* * *

"No," Derek says, backing away from Stiles.

"But..."

"That abomination is not going to live in this house," Derek says.

"It's harmless, though," Stiles says, lifting the offending creature up in his hands and closer to Derek.

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and Derek's skin feels like it's crawling. He shakes his head and holds his hands up in front of him to ward off Stiles and the thing that he's holding.

"No," Derek repeats. "Outside, get it outside."

"Papa?" Ruby tugs on the hem of his shirt, and Derek keeps the thing that Stiles is holding in his line of sight, even as he turns to look at their daughter.

"What is it, honey?" Derek keeps the fear from his voice, not wanting to frighten the little girl.

"How come you don't want Slipper?" Ruby asks, frowning at him and turning to look at the thing that Stiles is still holding.

"Slipper?" Derek asks, dumbfounded.

Ruby nods. "Uh huh, we's founded him 'neath the porch."

Derek bites his tongue and offers his little girl a smile as he picks her up and places her on his hip. He gives Stiles a completely different look, however.

"Can we keep him, Papa?" Ruby asks.

"We can place him, or her," Stiles amends, peering closely at the red and black snake, "in an aquarium."

Sighing, Derek nods. Knowing that he's been beat.

'I hate snakes,' Derek mouths.

Stiles gives him an apologetic look and shrugs. 'Sorry,' he mouths.

"Does uh, does Thomas have his own Slipper?" Derek asks, half afraid of the answer.

Ruby giggles and shakes her head. Derek lets out a relieved breath. One snake, harmless or not, is enough, he thinks.

"Thomas found a lizard," Stiles says, a small smile playing about his lips.

******"You know that they got this from you," Derek says, and he rolls his eyes toward the ceiling, silently asking the heavens for help.**

* * *

The snake is a sharp-tailed snake (common to California) that is not harmful to humans (according to research)


	10. Plans

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** dedicated to reviewers...hopefully it's an enjoyable read; thanks for your support.

* * *

Ruby cups her hands around her mouth and calls,"Fluffy!"

Thomas stands beside his sister, on the porch, a frown on his face and his arms crossed over his chest. The pose reminds Stiles of Derek, and he has to smile, in spite of the look of sad longing in the little boy's eyes.

Thomas signs, 'Muffin,' and stomps his foot, his frown deepening when his sister turns to look at him, hands on her hips. There's some kind of silent exchange between the two of them, no doubt perfected while they were on their own.

Stiles can't quite follow what it is that they're saying to each other, but from what he can see through the living room window, it appears to be heated. Thomas' cheeks are pink and Ruby's hands are flailing wildly in response to whatever it is that Thomas has communicated.

Derek thinks that they might have some kind of telepathic link, and Deaton agrees that it might be a possibility. It certainly was true of the twins in the Alpha pack from awhile back.

Stiles holds up a finger to his lips when Derek, cup of coffee in his hand, steps up behind him and rests a hand on his hip. He signals for Derek to look out of the window. Derek takes a sip of his coffee, hands it over to Stiles who sips at it, surprised that Derek's added just the right amount of sugar and cream, though he prefers his own coffee black.

"Thanks," Stiles murmurs as he passes the coffee back.

Derek grunts. It's too early in the morning, after the long night that he had running in the woods, chasing down a lead with the rest of the pack, for Derek to be fully awake yet.

"Fluffy!" Ruby calls again, her voice gruff and husky. "Muffin!"

"Those two get out again?" Derek asks, yawning.

Stiles nods, leans back against Derek's chest. He was up, much earlier, with the twins, who were extremely perky in the morning. He'd already fed and clothed them, and they'd spent the first part of their morning, after taking care of their pets, conducting a science experiment that Stiles had found on YouTube.

"They'll come back when they're hungry," Derek says.

Stiles nods. He'd told the twins as much, but they were worried about the dynamic duo, who seemed to be inseparable.

Fluffy no longer looked particularly fluffy, with the sleek coat that he'd begun to develop. Muffin, Stiles had to conceded, was a bit of a hellion. The only creature she seemed to tolerate at all was Fluffy, though she was partial to Thomas, and even let the little boy pet her.

Stiles guessed that the 'argument' between Thomas and Ruby had been about the little girl giving voice to her brother's silent call for the cat. There was no love lost between Ruby and Muffin, their dislike of each other was distinctly mutual.

"Think we should call them in?" Derek asks, passing the coffee back to Stiles.

"Give it another minute, and then we'll call them in and get ready for a trip to the lake," Stiles says, already packing the picnic basket in his mind. Cold cuts, fruit drinks for the twins, wine for him and Derek, crackers and cheese, and the chocolate souffle that he and the twins had made while they'd waited for Papa to wake.

Derek kisses the top of his head, and then snags the coffee back, downs the rest of it in one long swallow. "I'll go take a shower."

Stiles wrinkles his nose and waves a hand in front of his face, teasing his lover. Derek growls at him and nips at his ear, squeezes Stiles' hip. "Shower with me?"

Stiles can feel the heat creeping up his neck, but he shakes his head, refuses to let the images that Derek's question have conjured up in his mind to fully surface. He gestures toward the twins, and the errant cat and dog who are loping toward the porch - Fluffy with his tail tucked between his legs, a picture of repentance; Muffin with her tail and head held high, ever arrogant.

Muffin butts her head against Thomas' legs, and the little boy, face aglow with a smile, reaches down to pet her. Fluffy looks up at Ruby, his eyes begging for forgiveness. The little girl favors him with a smile and scratches behind his ears. His tail wags, slowly at first, and then hard enough to nearly cause him to fall on his butt when the little girl starts giggling.

"Tonight, after we've put the twins to bed," Derek whispers behind Stiles' ear, making him shiver with the promise, and then he's gone.

Stiles ushers his four little strays in and sets about packing up their picnic lunch and getting the kids ready for their afternoon outing. He tries to keep his mind off of Derek in the shower. Tries not to let his imagination run wild when he thinks about what will happen later that night, once the twins have been put to bed.


	11. After Bedtime

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Because Wait. .YOU requested it; the title comes from delia cerrano's review.

**Warning:** not for kids, there is some sex herein. Not overly graphic, and in keeping with the rules on this site, but still...sex.

* * *

It's been an exhausting, albeit thoroughly enjoyable, day, and Stiles hides a yawn behind a fist. He scratches at his belly, the itch there reminding him that he's still got to shower after his dip in the lake with Derek and the twins.

The twins have been fed and bathed and have just dropped off to sleep. Stiles had feared they would be too wound up to sleep, after their day of excitement, but as soon as their heads had hit their pillows, they were out.

Though it's only half past eight, it might as well be approaching midnight for as exhausted as he feels. He rubs his eyes and considers foregoing the shower in favor of going to sleep. He can always shower in the morning, after Derek wakes.

"Who knew being a parent would be this exhausting?" he muses aloud, running a hand through his hair.

He can almost hear his father chuckling in response to his words. Oddly, his father had been extremely supportive of Derek and him raising the twins; had even helped them fill out the paperwork for the adoption, which would be legal in just a few month's time - coinciding with Stiles' twentieth birthday.

As a matter of fact, his father would be coming to their house this Sunday for dinner. Which reminds Stiles that he's got to clean.

Stiles falls, face down on the bed, shucks his shoes off, because Derek has a thing about shoes on the bed.

Derek's out, doing a perimeter sweep of their land. Something he does every night before securing the house for the evening.

Everything's so routine, and Stiles groans. He feels like a middle-aged man, even though he hasn't even celebrated his twentieth birthday yet.

"How did this get to be my life?" he asks, rolling over and throwing his arms wide.

It's not that he's unhappy, because he isn't. He's exceedingly happy as a matter-of-fact. Content even. Which, he supposes, is part of the problem. Teenagers aren't supposed to be 'content'.

He should be starting his first year of university. Dating. Going to parties and drinking, though he's underage. Staying out past curfew, though, well, technically he no longer has a curfew. Experimenting with drugs and sex and a ton of other things that he's too tired to even think about right now.

He shouldn't be settling down. Parenting two semi-feral children with an emotionally constipated werewolf who doesn't really know how to have fun.

And yet, he's not unhappy. Can't envision himself as a single, party animal not tied down to anyone or anything. A free-spirit with zero responsibility.

He likes planning picnics and playing hide-and-go-seek, and teaching Derek how to loosen up and have fun. Likes falling asleep next to the man that he loves, knowing that he's going to be there when he wakes.

It's a comfortable life,though it isn't exactly complacent, because there are dangers that they face. Derek has a pack to run, and there are enemies that he has to face, enemies that could, and have, threatened Stiles' safety.

He's an easy target because of Derek's love for him. It's a sobering thought, and is not something that Stiles takes lightly.

He could have an easier life. A life free of panic-attack inducing events. A life where he wouldn't be put in the direct path of danger on a regular basis.

A life that, given the choice, he wouldn't want to live, because it would be a life without Derek. And though the werewolf's not easy to get along with at times, and has a temper that could give John McEnroe a run for his money - Stiles loves him.

For all of his faults, Derek has a big, if oft misguided, heart and when he loves, he loves fiercely and with a passion that, in Stiles' experience, is unequaled. He's tender in moments when tenderness is least expected, and, though he's gruff on the outside, he's a big, cuddly teddy-bear on the inside when Stiles needs him to be. They're a good fit for each other.

Stiles closes his eyes and waits for Derek to return. Though he's exhausted, he isn't yet ready to sleep. The bed, in spite of the cat lying on his pillow, and the dog planted at the foot of the bed, feels empty without Derek - without his other half.

He's halfway asleep when Derek steals, almost silently, into the room. Stiles rolls over onto his side and opens his eyes, catches Derek in one of his tender moments - soft, loving smile playing about his lips.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Derek whispers.

"Wasn't sleeping," Stiles says, voice muffled by a yawn.

Derek chuckles and sits down on the bed beside him, runs his fingers through Stiles hair, lets them rest against the back of his neck.

"Just resting your eyes?" he asks, amused.

Stiles nods and places a hand on Derek's thigh. "You lock up?"

Derek nods and rubs his thumb along the back of Stiles' neck. Stiles makes a happy sound and sits up, yawns and glowers when Derek laughs at him.

"We're getting to be like an old, married couple," Stiles complains, pouting.

Derek raises an eyebrow and smirks, pulls Stiles close and presses a kiss to Stiles' nose. Stiles pushes away and crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling both older and younger than his nineteen years of age.

He doesn't know why he's feeling cross, he just is, and it's disconcerting, because the day had been wonderful. It was a beautiful day. Derek had relaxed, and the twins had really enjoyed themselves. There'd been no worries and no stress. No panic. All-in-all, it had been a perfect day. But it felt like there was something missing, and Stiles couldn't put his finger on what it was.

"I was thinking about taking a shower," Derek says, voice soft.

Stiles jerks a shoulder in response, because he's not sure if he can trust his voice just now. Not when he can't get his wavering emotions under control.

"Care to join me?" Derek's voice is hesitant, yet husky; his hand on the back of Stiles' neck is warm and solid.

Stiles bites his lip, and nods. He's exhausted and he feels like the emotional version of a weather vane caught in a lightning storm, but his skin is itchy from his dip in the lake, and his muscles are taut, and he's got the beginnings of a headache forming at the back of his head.

He follows Derek into the bathroom and lets the werewolf undress him, because his limbs are heavy and he's tired and he isn't sure what he should be feeling right now - if he should be happy with the life that he has with Derek or if he should want something else, even though he can't envision being happy with anything other than what he has with Derek.

"You're too tense," Derek says, fingers plying at the stiff muscles in Stiles' shoulders once they've stepped into the shower.

Though Stiles isn't looking at him, he can picture the look on Derek's face. Eyebrows scrunched together; lips pursed, tugged down at the corners; eyes a deep, almost gold in color.

The water's warm and Derek's hands are strong. Stiles can feel his muscles give way beneath their steady influence. Stiles rests his hands against the wall of the shower for balance as Derek soaps him up, and right now, sex is the furthest thing from his mind.

"Relax," Derek breathes against the back of Stiles' neck, and Stiles makes a muffled sort of moan when Derek reaches around him and runs the washcloth over his chest, working it downward, slowly, meaningfully, until, soon, the only thing that Stiles is thinking about is sex.

It's not a quick transition from limp to hard, in spite of the fact that he still fits into the category of horny teenager, but a slow, almost painstaking development. And Stiles knows that it's Derek's influence, that, the werewolf is being very deliberate in his touch.

Derek makes a trail of kisses from Stiles' shoulder to his hip. "Have I told you how much I love you?" Derek asks, and he drops to his knees, nudging Stiles' legs apart slightly.

Stiles moans, and bites his bottom lip, rests his head against the wall of the shower. He's surprised when Derek inserts himself between Stiles and the wall of the shower he's leaning against, having expected things to go a lot differently.

His knees buckle and his hips jerk forward when Derek's tongue touches the tip of his cock. Stiles takes a deep, shuddering breath, holds it, and lets it out in slow, stuttering puffs of breath. He moves one hand to the top of Derek's head, fingers fisting hair as Derek teases him with his tongue and fingers.

"Uhnnnngfuuuuggg..." Stiles says incoherently. He's seeing stars, hips bucking as Derek uses his hands and mouth to make him come irrevocably unglued.

"Come for me," Derek growls, voice a low rumble, and Stiles looks down at the werewolf knelt in front of him.

His mate. Alpha of a ragtag pack of misfits.

Lips slightly parted. Warm water cascading over his head and shoulders. Derek looks like a waterlogged god. They lock eyes and Derek shuffles forward, mouth on Stiles' cock, and Stiles is momentarily blinded.

He grasps at Derek's hair, pulling, and there's an apology in his thoughts that'll never get voiced. He makes an aborted cry that's half moan, half, "Ohmyfuckinggawwwwwd," as he comes.

The sound of the shower drowns out the rest of Stiles' poor attempt at speech. He's trembling, muscles like putty, and the sight of Derek swallowing, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth is almost enough to make him come again.

Instead, he sinks to his knees, wraps his arms around Derek and kisses him until the water runs cold and they're shivering. They pull apart and Stiles feels like he can no longer breathe without Derek's mouth guiding him.

Derek turns the water off, and grabs Stiles' wrist when he moves to reciprocate. "Not tonight," Derek says. "Tonight's for you."

Derek plucks him up, like he weighs nothing, though Stiles knows that he's put on a few pounds since the last time Derek has done something like this. Stiles seems to have channeled his mother shortly after finding the twins. Batches of cookies and cupcakes and other high caloric goodies are always around now, and Stiles has a sweet-tooth.

Something he's got in common with Derek, though to hear the werewolf talk, he hates chocolate chip cookies and lemon cake, though they mysteriously disappear whenever Derek is around. Which is why Stiles always keeps them on hand.

Derek towels him off and then carries him into the bedroom, lays him on the bed and then lays down beside him. Stiles rests his head on Derek's broad chest, listens to the werewolf's steady heartbeat and snuggles close feeling loved and whole.

Stiles has a flash of memory. _His mother, tired from a long day of taking care of the household chores and entertaining him, being swept off of her feet by his father, equally tired. They'd kissed and Stiles had watched in awe as both of them seemed to be transformed in that moment - the stress and worries and the signs of exhaustion melting away in that embrace. _

"I love you," Stiles says, lips brushing against Derek's chest, eliciting gooseflesh.

Derek kisses the top of his head, twines their fingers together and grunts approvingly. It's the only, I love you, that Stiles needs from Derek right now. It's enough, and it makes this life - postponing college, caring for a set of wild twins, planning picnics, baking, the whole nine yards - well worthwhile.

* * *

Please leave a review and let me know if you're reading and enjoying and maybe what you'd like to see next, if you're so inclined. Reviews keep me writing, and they make my day.


	12. The Mother Side of Things

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Written for evilanimegenious who asked to see Derek trying out the 'mother' side of parenting. I hope that this doesn't disappoint. Thanks for the suggestion. This one kind of got away from me.

* * *

Derek grabs a box of Stiles' favorite cereal without even really looking. He tosses it into the shopping cart and removes the two boxes that the twins have dumped into the cart when he wasn't watching. Ruby tries to sneak another box of some chocolatey cereal, but this time he catches her.

"But, Papa, it's my fa'vrite," Ruby pouts, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Ruby, you've never had that cereal before," Derek comments dryly, but he doesn't give in, even when she pouts, and heaves a dramatic sigh.

It's probably the picture on the box that's drawn her attention. It's one of those gimmicky cartoon renderings of something that Derek thinks is supposed to be a rabbit, or maybe a kangaroo, or perhaps even a cross between the two of them. In any case, it appeals to kids, and Stiles. Derek almost gets it, just to see the look on his lover's face, but he sticks to his guns. Something he'd promised Stiles that he'd do, because the twins can be very sneaky and persuasive.

_Just like their Daddy,_ Derek muses.

A woman passing by winks at Derek and sashays her hips, she almost coos at the twins. Derek looks away with a barely concealed growl, takes the box of some extra sugary cereal from Thomas and reaches for a much more sensible one, handing it off to the disgruntled boy who tosses it into the cart.

This is why he hates going grocery shopping without Stiles, not that he does it often, and he's never done it with the twins; typically it's something that Stiles does. The women, single and otherwise, constantly hit on him when Stiles isn't around. Not that some of them aren't bold enough to do it when he is with Stiles, but Stiles always makes some kind of gesture that leaves the women with zero hope of having a chance in hell with Derek. A pinch on his ass, a hand on his hip, a mind-blowing kiss...

"Papa, I want this one." Ruby shoves a bright, yellow box in his face, and he has to back up a little to see what it is.

He smiles, knowing that it was the heart on the box which had drawn the little girl's attention. It's a heart-healthy cereal. Stiles won't get upset if he indulges Ruby with this particular brand of cereal. He probably won't have a clue that Ruby requested it, because it's sensible, and it's the type of thing that Derek typically buys when he's shopping on his own.

Thomas tugs on his arm and Derek looks at the little boy who has a hopeful, and stubborn look on his face. He's got a box of cereal clutched tightly to his chest, fearful that it'll be taken away. It's the same box Derek's removed from the cart a total of three times since they've entered the aisle. It's got very little nutritional value, but after giving in to Ruby's request, he can't deny Thomas, and suddenly he realizes why Stiles told him not to give in, no matter what. It's too late now, though, so he adds the cereal to the steadily increasing pile of boxes already in the cart, noting that the chocolatey cereal has found its way back.

He now understands why Stiles had told him to save this particular aisle for the end of their trip. He's already exhausted and they've only just begun. He's still got an entire supermarket to contend with.

"Your children are so sweet," a woman says. She stops her cart next to Derek's reaches across him to pluck a cereal from the shelf, brushing against his chest. She places a hand on Derek's arm to steady herself, and smiles at the twins.

Ruby growls at the woman, and Thomas clutches Derek's leg, burying his face against the back of Derek's knee, hiding from the woman.

"They're shy ones, aren't they?" she coos, and kneels down to get a closer look at Thomas who is now trembling and signing frantically against the back of Derek's leg. _Safe. Help. Up_.

Before Derek can tell the woman to back off - politely of course - Ruby's eyes flash yellow and she snarls at the woman, teeth snapping inches from her neck. Derek pulls her up into his arms before she can hurt the ignorant woman, and presses the little girl's face against his chest. Silently urging her to calm down, he places a hand on her back and makes a humming sound that Stiles has termed 'purring'.

The woman's eyes go wide and she nearly falls on her ass. She blinks up at Derek, her mouth dropping open.

"They don't like strangers," Derek says, trying to keep calm, because things are starting to get out of control and right now he has to be nice and polite. He can't be a bad example for the twins, though he wants to rip out the woman's throat for scaring them, and flirting with him, and making him hate the cereal aisle.

"Papa, I want Daddy," Ruby all but wails.

Thomas signs, _Daddy_ and _up_ and _please, Papa._

Right now, he wants Stiles too, but he'd offered to take the twins grocery shopping so that Stiles could get some work done around the house, and train with Deaton, and they've only been gone for a half an hour, at most. He can't quit now, not when he'd told Stiles that he could handle the shopping, and the twins on his own. It's as much a matter of pride as it is something that he wants to do for Stiles, to give the man a break from being the 'mother' of their small family.

"Well, I..." the woman stammers and she backs away when Derek reaches down to help her up. She abandons her cart and leaves the aisle at a brisk pace, casting a fearful look behind her as she rounds the corner.

Derek sighs and presses a kiss to Ruby's hair. The little girl is crying and Thomas is still signing _up, up, up_. He shifts Ruby in his arms and pulls Thomas up, tucking him against his side. He's got an armful of twins and no free hand with which to push the cart, so he toes it ahead of them, glaring at anyone who dares to glance in their direction.

The cart ends up with far more cereal than any family of four - even one which has a constant stream of visitors who are teenage werewolves - needs. Derek's barely aware of this, though as he's trying to console the distraught twins who are still requesting, each in their own way, their Daddy who is usually with them. He wonders how on earth Stiles manages to handle the twins and the shopping without an extra set of hands, or three, and if he has to contend with flirtatious women and men at the same time.

Derek tries to place Ruby, or Thomas in the cart, but neither of them budge, so he winds up toeing the cart throughout the entire supermarket, getting strange looks from other shoppers, offers of help that he (mostly) kindly refuses, and an aching back. Toward the end, he doesn't even know if he's getting what's on the list or not, he just wants to get out of the store and home to Stiles.

The bagger offers to carry the groceries out the the car, and Derek's grateful that Stiles insisted he take the jeep. He's got at least ten bags of groceries, one which contains nothing but junk food, which he normally doesn't get, but because of the distraught twins and the image of a smile on Stiles' face that constantly dogs his every step, he caves.

With a great deal of coaxing, and a little bribery involving candy bars, he manages to get the twins buckled into their seats. He hands the bagger a ten dollar bill, and wishes that he could have the young man follow him home to help him unload the groceries and put them away. As it is, once everyone and everything is settled into the car, Derek sits behind the wheel and closes his eyes, focuses on his breathing. He's exhausted, the clock on the dashboard shows him that he's only been gone for two hours. It feels like it's been much, much longer than that.

"Papa, park?" Ruby asks, voice hopeful, all traces of fear and tears gone from her voice.

A quick glance in the rear view mirror makes him groan, and brings to mind Stiles' admonishment that, under no circumstances, should the twins be allowed to have chocolate in the car. Ruby's got it all over her face, her clothes, her car seat, and Thomas has some of the gooey chocolate in his hair, though, for the first time since they'd left the house mid-morning, he has a smile on his face. He waves at Derek who musters a smile that he doesn't really feel for the little boy.

"After we put all of these groceries away," Derek promises, and get the two of you cleaned up, he silently adds.

It's something that Stiles would do - take the twins to the park. Derek wonders where the younger man gets all of his energy from. He's constantly on the go from the moment he gets up, to the minute his head hits the pillow, and sometimes, he's up with the twins or one of their friends, or the critters that they've taken in, after they've retired for the evening.

The kids are wound up when they get home. They run around Derek's legs, nearly tripping him as he carries the groceries in and puts them away. Stiles is nowhere to be found, and it's not until he's got every last grocery tucked away - one of the cupboards won't close properly - that he sees the note tacked to the fridge: _Gone to Deaton's earlier than I thought, be back in time for dinner._ There's a lopsided heart drawn on the paper, and a pair of red lips inside of it.

He'd almost forgotten that Stiles was going to work at Deaton's today - just as a trial run. The house looks impeccable, or had looked impeccable before the twins had ransacked the living room, getting chocolate on the walls and the couch. He's tracked mud into the house as well. He'd forgotten to take his shoes off.

Derek resists the urge he has to growl, and corrals the twins to give them a bath. An hour and a new set of clothing - for all of them - later, and they're ready for lunch, which turns out to be much more complicated than he thought it would be.

Thomas wants Spaghetti-O's with little bits of hotdog cut up in it, and Ruby wants a grilled cheese sandwich with tomato soup. By the time he's fixed the food and fed them, he realizes that he's forgotten to fix something for himself and that he probably should have waited on the bath, because both twins are now covered in red. The kitchen, which had been glistening when they'd returned home, is now coated with spaghetti sauce, tomato soup and noodles. The stove is a complete mess, and Derek's skin feels sticky.

"Park?" Ruby asks again, and Thomas echoes that with a sign, though he's got a thumb tucked in his mouth, and his eyelids are drooping.

"How about if we go to the park after a nap?" Derek suggests, stifling a yawn of his own. He wonders if he should wait until after they've napped and gone to the nearby park before giving them another bath, and wipes them down with a dishcloth, ignoring the mentions of how, _'Daddy doesn't do it like that.'_

Derek's plan to clean up the muddied hallway, the disheveled living room, and the kitchen, which looks like a small bomb filled with tomato paste has exploded in it, is thwarted by the twins who insist that he read them a book, and his traitorous eyes, which close, of their own accord, and blink open only when the twins wake up an hour, or so, later.

Thomas pats his cheek, and Ruby calls, "Papa," softly. They'd fallen asleep, together, in the armchair. Feeling hot and sticky, and, somehow, more tired than he'd been before his unintended nap, Derek extricates himself from the chair and the twins, and packs a snack of juice boxes, animal crackers and raisins (at Thomas' insistence) for their trip to the park.

It's busy when they get there, but Thomas and Ruby run off, heading straight for a group of kids who appear to be their age. Ruby's squealing with excitement and Thomas is grinning from ear to ear.

Derek feels more than just a little out of place when he looks around the busy park and sees small groups of mothers sitting on benches, or at picnic tables, chatting while keeping an eye on their children. He finds a bench that hasn't yet been claimed, and which gives him an unimpeded view of the twins, and gratefully sinks down onto it, placing the duffel bag that he'd crammed the snacks into, next to him.

It's practically bursting at the seams with everything that Stiles has got stuffed into it - toys and clothes and wipes, and things that Derek doesn't even have a name for. It's not long before a mother, pushing a stroller, joins him.

"So, you must be the other half that Stiles speaks so highly of," the woman says. She wipes her hand on her pants and then holds it out to Derek, who frowns but takes the proffered hand, shaking it quickly.

He keeps his eyes trained on the twins, worry building in his gut when Thomas climbs to the top of the slide, a look of triumph on his face. Ruby is sitting on one of the swings, a little boy is pushing her, and Derek wonders just who this little boy is and if this kind of thing happens often. He's not sure which issue to address first, the swing or the slide that Thomas is getting ready to go down.

"My name's Tessa," the woman says, prattling on as though Derek is actually listening to her.

He's got his ears attuned to both of the twins, keying in on their heartbeats and their breathing, the sounds that Ruby's making as she swings. Loud giggles that float across the short distance of the park to him, her throaty voice begging to go, "Higher!"

"Stiles and the twins are practically celebrities here," the woman gushes, and Derek wishes that she'd shut up, because he can't tell if Thomas' heart is beating that quickly because he's in danger, or because he's excited.

"He's always talking about you, but no one has ever seen hide nor hair of you, so we've always wondered if he was just making you up so that we'd stop trying to set him up with our single friends."

It's hard, but Derek manages to tune the woman out, though there's a part of him which is scanning the park, wondering if he can pick out which mothers have tried to set Stiles up with someone else. He feels a stab of jealousy for whoever these women are, and vows that next time Stiles brings the twins to the park, he'll join them.

Thomas is tottering at the top of the slide, and, finally, clumsily sits down on it, nearly toppling over the edge, making Derek's heart race. He inches toward the edge of the bench, getting ready to catch Thomas should he fall, when one of the boys who's waiting for the slide shoves the little boy, sending him down the slide at a fast clip.

Derek's heart stops beating for a full three seconds and he's unaware that he's even moved until he's standing over the little boy who's at the bottom of the slide, wriggling off of it. He's beaming up at Derek and signing, _again_, racing around Derek's legs to clamber up the ladder, on his own. Completely unfazed, and unaware of the fact that he'd nearly given Derek a heart attack.

Derek doesn't move quickly enough and is nearly bowled over by the next little boy, the one who'd pushed Thomas down the slide. The little boy scrambles around Derek, ignoring his angry growl.

"Wait for me, Thomas!" he shouts, and Thomas, who's already at the top of the slide once again, leans over the edge of the railing, making Derek's heart crash violently against his ribcage with his fearlessness. One wrong move and the little boy would fall, maybe break an arm or a leg.

"I wanna push you," the boy grunts out as he climbs the ladder, which looks much too flimsy for Derek's liking. It shakes under the combined weight of the little boys, who, by Derek's estimation, don't weigh very much.

A shrill shriek reaches his ears, and Derek turns his head, horrified to see that Ruby's no longer swinging safely close to the ground, but her feet are high up in the air. He's certain that if she goes any higher, she'll loop the bar at the top.

"Jump, Ruby!" one of the girls, swinging almost as high as Ruby is, shouts, and Derek's heart screams, No. "On three," the girl says.

"One," Ruby's voice rings out loud and clear. Her heartbeat has increased, as has Derek's. She pumps her legs, inches closer to the edge of the swing as she prepares to jump.

Derek's legs feel leaden when he hears the other girl shout, "Two."

Thomas is flopping down onto the slide, this time on his belly. Thomas is pushed by his friend, and Derek hears him whoosh down the slide at much a pace which is much too fast for him.

Ruby gleefully screams the number, "Three!" and Derek watches, rooted to the spot, torn between deciding which twin to protect, as she and the other girl, soar through the air. It seems to last a lifetime, Derek's heart and gut twisting inside of him.

Ruby's skirt flies up, revealing her Scooby Doo underwear, and she lands several feet away from the swing with an, "Oomph," scattering sand everywhere. The other little girl lands with a little less aplomb, and winded. Thomas doesn't make a sound, but he brushes past Derek and climbs the unsteady ladder once again, the other little boy racing behind him.

Derek's heart feels like it's going to beat right out of his chest, and it only slows down a little when he sees that Ruby and her friend are heading away from the swings. It skyrockets when he sees that they're heading toward the jungle gym instead.

Derek isn't sure which twin to focus on at the moment. Ruby and her friend are climbing the jungle gym, and Thomas is settling himself at the top of the slide. He catches Derek's attention with a wave that nearly gives Derek a heart attack because the little boy lets go of the railing to do so. He signs, _Papa, watch_, and Derek tries to muster a smile, tries not to picture the little boy tumbling over the railing, headfirst into the hard sand.

Thomas smiles and launches himself down the slide, not waiting for his friend to push him. He speeds down the slide and flies off of the bottom of it, landing hard in the sand. It doesn't seem to slow him down, though and Derek watches as he plucks himself up off of the ground, and stumbles a little as he turns to run back to the slide.

Derek isn't sure what he's supposed to do, which twin he's supposed to keep an eye on, how he can possibly watch both of them when they aren't even in the same section of the park. They don't even seem to understand that they are in danger. They're smiling and laughing and Derek doesn't know how Stiles does this every single day without losing his mind.

"Come, sit down," Tessa calls, patting the bench beside her.

Derek watches Thomas and his friend slide a few more times and relaxes slightly when he sees that Ruby and her friend are perched in the middle of the jungle gym, talking animatedly about something. He returns to the bench, noticing that Tessa has a baby on her lap now and is feeding it a bottle.

"They'll be fine," Tessa assures him, bouncing the infant. "That's my little boy, Roger," Tessa says, pointing toward a little boy with a shock of red hair. He's racing around in circles and making choo-choo sounds.

"And the little boy with Thomas is Patrick. He's Paul's son," she points toward a dark-haired man sitting on a bench kitty-corner from them.

"Ruby and Penny are practically inseparable," Tessa adds. "Her mother, Marissa, is sitting right over there." Derek follows her finger to a picnic bench, where a woman with jet black hair is sitting. She's watching his daughter almost as closely as Derek's been watching the twins.

"They're regulars, just like Stiles and the twins. We have a playgroup which meets every Wednesday. Maybe you'll join us sometime?" Tessa's voice has a hopeful lilt to it, though her attention appears to be focused on the baby she's now placing back in the stroller.

Derek makes a noncommittal grunt, and files it away to ask Stiles about later, though the thought of belonging to any group is a little intimidating and unsettling for him. He goes out of his way to avoid crowds.

Thomas careens into his legs seconds later, and climbs onto his lap, he reaches for the bag and digs through it to find his snack, which he shares with Patrick who approaches Derek with no small amount of trepidation, wary eyes trained on the unfamiliar man.

"Where's your Daddy?" he whispers, settling himself on the bench between Tessa and Derek. Thomas makes the sign for _Papa_, and points at him. Patrick nods, and Derek wonders if the boy understood the sign.

Patrick's father ambles over to them and sticks a hand out for Derek.

"Paul," he says. "You must be Derek?"

Derek nods, craning his neck to look for Ruby who hasn't come to get her snack yet.

"Stiles alright?" Paul inquires, and Derek finally looks at him. The man's tall and slim, has eyes the color of jade, and Derek wonders just how close Stiles and Paul are, how often they talk.

"He's, ah, he's fine," Derek says, still keeping an eye out for Ruby.

"At the vet's?" Paul asks, and he settles next to Derek, moving the duffel to the ground.

Derek frowns and nods and breathes a little easier when he sees Ruby running toward them, her friend Penny trailing behind. He and Stiles are going to have to talk with the twins about the importance of keeping their supernatural abilities secret, and how to do that. It's not something that he relishes, though he remembers his own parents talking to him about it when he'd been the twins' age. He remembers how hard it had been for him to make sure that he wasn't running too fast, or using too much strength, or making his eyes change color when he was upset about something.

There's so much that they need to be taught, that Derek's momentarily overwhelmed. He misses something that Paul's asked him.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" Derek asks, though he's not really listening. He hands Ruby a juice box and her snacks before the little girl even requests them, watches her skip off to a patch of grass nearby and sit down with Penny.

"I was just wondering if we'd be seeing more of you around here," Paul says in a voice that is a little too casual. He coughs and shifts in his seat.

"I think I'd like to join Stiles and the kids more," Derek says carefully, wondering how long they've been coming to this park and what kind of interest Paul has in Stiles.

"Good, that's good," Paul says, and he smiles tightly. "You and Stiles should come to the playgroup on Wednesdays. We meet right here, and take turns providing snacks, and coming up with group activities. Sometimes there are crafts for the kids."

"You and Stiles really should come," Penny's mother, Marissa, comments, and she holds a hand out for Derek who's suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious. He shakes her hand, and introduces himself, though it's apparent that Stiles has already told everyone about him.

"It's nice to finally meet you," Marissa says, and Derek can tell that she really means it. "Stiles speaks so highly of you; it's nice to finally put a face to the name."

"It sure is," Paul says, a little less genuinely than Marissa.

"There was a time when we wondered if you were real or not," Tessa adds, chuckling a little. She looks at her watch and frowns, stands and calls out, "Roger, honey, it's time to go home!"

Roger's shoulders slump a little but he turns at his mother's words and says goodbye to the little boy he'd been playing with before he races over to the bench.

"I've got to get dinner started," Tessa explains.

"What time is it?" Derek asks, realizing that he's got to do the same thing soon, Stiles will be home from Deaton's at around four or five and Derek wants to surprise him with dinner.

Now that he's experienced what a typical day is like for the younger man, there's a lot that he wants to do for Stiles. Though it's rare that he has a full day off, between pack business and his part-time job, working as a police liaison, Derek vows that he'll make the time, that he'll play 'mommy' more often, though it's exhausting work and he doesn't have a clue how Stiles does it on a daily basis and still retains his sanity. Stiles had expressed an interest in attending some courses at the community college, and working part-time at the veterinary office. Today was a practice run at Deaton's.

"It's almost two-thirty," Tessa says, already packing her things up.

"We'd better get going, too," Derek says. Thomas signs, No and play, but Derek shakes his head. "We can come back tomorrow, okay?"

Thomas grins and nods and kisses him on the cheek. He signs, goodbye, to Patrick and jumps off of Derek's lap to throw away his garbage. He rounds Ruby up along the way, and the girl reluctantly says goodbye to her friend, giving her a hug before tossing away her garbage and racing over to the bench.

"Guess we'll see you tomorrow, then," Paul says. Patrick is clinging to his father's hand, swinging it between them.

It's then that Derek realizes that he's made a commitment to return. He almost groans, but manages to smile and nod and shake Paul's hand yet again.

The trip home is filled with chatter from Ruby, and excited signs from Thomas that he follows in the rear view mirror. Derek adds a few words and phrases here and there, and wonders how he's going to get the house cleaned, and dinner ready by the time Stiles gets home. The twins need another bath, and he doesn't even want to think about the state that he'd left the kitchen in. It'll need to be cleaned in order for him to make dinner.

There are not enough hours in the day, he decides when they arrive home and the house looks even worse than he remembered it being when they'd gone to the park. He gets to work, cajoling the twins to put their toys away while he tackles the kitchen. He's never scrubbed at something that hard before, and decides that from now on, he'll clean messes up immediately. Especially if they involve spaghetti or cheese sauce.

He catches himself thinking about doing this in the future, and nearly shudders, but when Ruby and Thomas run into the kitchen and tackle his legs with a hug, he feels a peace steal over him. It's hard work, and definitely not something that he wants to do every day, but switching it up with Stiles every now and again, he'd like that.

He somehow manages, with the help of the twins (which, really involves a lot of redirection and contributes to the overall mess that he's making by himself) to make what he hopes will be a semi-decent meal. Meatloaf - from a recipe he found in one of the cookbooks that Stiles had brought from home - mashed potatoes, peas (from a can) and chocolate cake (from a box).

He hears the car before Stiles even pulls into their drive. Finds himself standing by the door, waiting, watching through the curtains in the front window. The twins flank him on either side. He thinks that if he had a tail, it would be wagging, but he brushes that thought aside, thinks that he might need to make it an early night, because he's so tired that he's not thinking straight.

Before Stiles manages to make it all the way inside the house, Derek is there, pulling him into a kiss that leaves the younger man blinking up at him, speechless.

"Welcome home," Derek says, helping him out of his coat and leading him toward the armchair. He kneels and takes Stiles shoes off.

"Do I smell meatloaf?" Stiles asks, his voice filled with awe.

_Potatoes,_ Thomas signs as he scrambles up into Stiles' lap and gives him a hug and a peck on the cheek. Thomas had mashed them himself, and though they were lumpy, Derek hadn't the heart to take the job from him or add his own muscle to it, because Thomas was proud of what he'd done, and he didn't want to take that from him.

"An' we got choc'late cake," Ruby adds. She jumps up onto the arm of the chair and hugs Stiles.

"Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and chocolate cake?" Stiles' brows rise upward and he gives Derek a grateful look. "Some of my most favorite things? Are you trying to spoil me?"

_Peas,_ Thomas signs, mouth set in a serious line, and Stiles ruffles his hair.

"It's not spoiling, Daddy," Ruby says. "We misted you."

"Oh?" Stiles asks, and he looks at Derek who nods.

"We got groceries -" Derek starts to detail their day, only to be interrupted by Ruby.

"And got a bath, and then we made lunch -"

_Book, nap_, Thomas signs.

"And then we went to the park, an' I played with Penny, an' Thomas played with Patrick, an' Papa talked to Miss Tessa an' Mr. Paul an' Miss Marissa, an' he's gonna bring us back tomorrow," Ruby finishes enthusiastically.

"Is that so?" Stiles asks, looking to Derek for confirmation.

Sighing, Derek nods. "I figured maybe we could go together? They mentioned something about a Wednesday playgroup."

"I was thinking about checking that out, wanted to run it by you first though," Stiles says, yawning. "Man, I'm more tired than I thought I'd be."

"Well, you've had a busy day. Let's eat dinner," Derek says, standing and helping Stiles to his feet. "I'll bathe the kids and get them ready for bed after we've eaten."

"Sounds good," Stiles says, pulling him aside, letting the twins get to the dining room ahead of them.

"Thank you, Derek." His eyes are shining with love, and he gives him a chaste kiss.

"I love you." Stiles squeezes his hand.

"I love you, too," Derek whispers, voice gruff. Thomas tugs Stiles toward the table, and Ruby hands him a napkin while Derek puts the food on the table. The children settle on either side of Stiles, leaving the chair across from the younger man open for Derek.

Derek takes a moment to survey his family, heart swelling with something that he'd never thought possible for it to possess, simply because there was a point in time when he'd thought that he'd always be alone. The lone leader of a pack. That he'd never have a real family. That he'd never have love.

* * *

As always, reviews are greatly appreciated.


	13. In the Aftermath

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Not every 'pack member' is present in this, and I do not take into account current events on the show, because I am not caught up with it (sorry). Inspired by reading a fanfic that, for the first time in over a month, was not from "The Sentinel" universe, and a request made by, Shannara810, in a review. I know it's not perfect, and I'm okay with that (trying not to obsess over perfection in what I write).

**Warning:** Features violence and children engaging in violent acts, though it isn't detailed, there is some possibly gruesome imagery, perpetuated by a child.

* * *

In the aftermath of the fight, they can't find Thomas. Little Ruby is clutching Derek's hand tightly, her face is pale and streaked with thin rivulets of blood that looks like a spider's web across her left cheek. Her lips are rouged with blood, and Derek can smell the sickly sweet stench of it every time she lets a breath out. Her eyes are dark and clouded, and there's a growl residing just beneath the surface, lingering in her chest.

She's angry, and Derek's chest tightens, his heart skipping a beat when he realizes that he's proud of the little girl. Proud of the anger that she's displaying, and of the way that she fought for her family – Stiles, Derek, Thomas – and the pack. Proud of how she'd stood in front of her fallen Dada when Stiles had been knocked unconscious by one of the rogue hunters who'd attacked them without warning.

It's a pride that he doubts he should have as her 'Papa'. He should want other things for his little girl. Better things than a face spattered with blood from a battle with foes. Things like pictures of ponies or unicorns that resemble Picasso artwork, thrust at him with eager, outstretched hands. Hung on the refrigerator using magnets that smile back at him.

They're all nursing injuries - Isaac and Scott are bundled together on the couch in the living room, sequestered together beneath a worn blanket; Stiles is swaying on his feet beside Derek, blinking through the dizziness that had been brought on by a concussion. He should go to the hospital. Derek knows this. Stiles knows this. Neither of them make a move to go anywhere.

"Thomas!" Stiles' voice is hoarse and he blindly reaches for Derek's hand, clutching it tightly with fingers that are caked with blood. Blood that shouldn't be there. Blood that wouldn't be there if Derek hadn't let his vigilance slip.

Allison and her father pace the room, the former limping from an injury that she's trying to mask behind a blank face. Her father casts a worried look in her direction, but doesn't say anything; he's clutching an arm to his stomach, blinking to stay awake and alert.

They're all worse for the wear, and yet, they're alive, and the rogue hunters are gone. Hopefully for good. Some of them dead, burning on a fire of their own making, far enough away from the house that there's no danger of it catching fire. Peter is outside, watching over the pyre, along with the Sheriff.

"Derek, what if-" Stiles doesn't finish the thought. His breath hitches, the hand not clinging to Derek's clutching at his chest. Derek knows that Stiles is on the verge of a panic attack, and there's little that he can do to keep it at bay, short of finding the missing boy. The little boy without a voice.

"We'll find him," Derek says, his voice low and throaty, mustering every bit of conviction that he can into the words. Stiles doesn't need to add Derek's misgivings on top of his own.

Ruby cants her head to the side, her forehead scrunching, dried blood flaking in the wrinkles, and Derek knows she's listening for something that he can't hear. The supernatural connection she's got with her twin allowing her to get a bead on him when Derek can't. It's unnerving, and fascinating at the same time, and Derek lets her pull them forward, toward the door as she follows that divine connection that she and Thomas share.

Derek can't believe that he'd lost sight of the little boy during the battle, that he'd let them be taken unaware in the first place, that what had started off as a nighttime of movies and popcorn had almost turned into a massacre.

He blames himself, though he knows what the others will say – Argent included – that it wasn't his fault, that this didn't happen because, for once, he'd let his guard down, allowed himself to have fun, and bask in the love of his ad hoc family. No, they'd argue that it would have happened regardless of how attune to the world outside of their happy little gathering, he'd been at the time.

They'd argue that the rogue hunters had been planning this for awhile now, and he knows that they'd be right. The way that the 'hunters' had come in, with guns blazing, silver knives flashing, fire held aloft in their arrogant hands, proves that this wasn't random. And, by all rights, the bastards should have won. They'd had surprise on their side, had taken them completely unawares, but, Derek's heart swells with pride as he recalls how quickly the pack had acted. How his family had banded together and taken out the threat expediently, and without remorse.

Only when the proverbial, and not so proverbial, smoke had cleared, and roles had been assumed - some of healing and others of sentry – had Derek realized that the little boy was missing. That their precious little burden had disappeared in the heat of the battle.

He's numb with the knowing, but equally determined to find Thomas, never acknowledging the fear that nudges at the back of his mind, insinuating that Thomas has been lost to them – carted off by the 'hunters' who'd survived to be tortured, or butchered outright.

He shakes himself, forces the dire pictures from his mind, the paralyzing guilt that threatens to keep him rooted to the spot rather than following Ruby's guiding steps down the front porch, and around to the back of the house.

There's a small alcove, replete with creepy crawlies: centipedes, spiders, earthworms, lizards and the odd snake or two. Ruby lets go of his hand, clambers to his knees, and Stiles follows suit, Derek's the last to act, simply staring at the two before something in his mind 'clicks' and it registers to him what's happening, that Ruby's led them to Thomas.

It's dark, but Derek has no trouble making out the shape of the little boy, huddling in the furthest corner of the small space. Arms wrapped around knees drawn up to his chest, he's staring at nothing – eyes wide and empty. He's barely breathing, and Derek, from experience with Stiles, realizes that Thomas is experiencing a panic attack, that he's locked in his own mind.

The boy is covered from head to toe in blood, and Derek has no idea if any of it is the little boy's, and that scares him. Scares him more than anything else that's happened that night. Ruby and Stiles, as though exchanging some wordless communication, hold back, and it's Derek that fully enters the tight space, closes the gap that exists between himself and the little boy.

It's as he's reaching out to touch, hand hovering just short of Thomas' hair, that he recognizes some of himself in the haunted look that's coming from Thomas' eyes. He's hurt and scared and broken, and Derek wonders what happened, what he'd failed to see because he'd been focused on other aspects of the battle.

"I'm sorry, baby," Derek says gruffly, pulling the unresponsive little boy to himself, ignoring the way that the startled hitch of breath, and the way that Thomas stiffens in his arms and pushes at him, makes his own heart constrict with pain and fear.

Thomas' reaction is a good sign, as is the nearly frantic beating of the boy's heart. It means that he isn't nearly as broken as Derek had initially feared he was. It means that there's a good chance that Thomas _will _come back to them soon, that he won't be the same, vacant, feral little boy that he'd been when Stiles had first brought him home.

"Shh," Derek whispers, pressing the little boy's ear against his chest, hoping to calm him as he often calmed Stiles when the younger man was lost in some memory, or fear. "It's over, I've got you now. Papa's got you."

"Derek, is he...there's an awful lot of blood." Stiles' voice is subdued, almost not there, and it's tinged with fear that is nearly tangible.

Derek shakes his head. None of the blood is Thomas'. It belongs to one of the hunters, and he can see, now that his eyes have adjusted to the darkness, a remnant of the man the little boy had taken out in a feral rage.

It's a pinky, torn off at the joint, tendons and bone showing, the blood so dark that it looks black. It's a sickening sight, and yet Derek feels a kick of pride in that lone trophy the little boy had secured beside him on the dirt floor of the alcove. His secret hideaway.

Both twins had been overcome with primal instinct during the attack, something that Derek doubts they'll ever lose, even with domesticity. They'd taken on their were-formations and attacked, defending their family, the pack, each other. It was a thing of beauty, a thing of horror stories, something which Derek will never forget.

Thomas finally relaxes in his arms, and Derek sighs, relaxing himself when the little boy's arms snake around him in a surprisingly strong hug, something that's generally reserved for Stiles or Ruby He feels the sign for, _Papa_, etched into his side, and, _Sorry,_ and_ Please_, and _Ruby._

"Ruby's fine," Derek assures the little boy and then he crawls toward the entrance, needing to take Thomas away from the partial grave that he'd erected for the man that he'd killed in self-defense.

Derek thinks he remembers the moment that he'd lost track of the little boy, the hunter who'd had an eye on him. The sick glint of blood-lust in the man's eyes had made Derek nervous, made his gut clench, but then Stiles had fallen, and there'd been an ungodly howl from one of the others, and by the time Derek had turned around to seek out Thomas, the little boy, and the man, were gone.

"Was that...?" Stiles gestures back toward the alcove, once they're free of its suffocating confines.

Derek nods, unsure of just how much Stiles had been able to see. Next to the pinky, had been part of an ear that clearly bore teeth marks, and there was a small mound of dirt next to the unseemly pair, a small hole in the dirt beside it. Thomas had been burying the remnants of his kill, like a wild dog, when he'd succumbed to the horrors of what had happened, what he'd done.

"He'll be fine," Derek says, the words coming out a little more harshly than he'd intended them to.

He's protective, shunting Thomas away from Stiles, unsure if Stiles understands that the little boy isn't to blame for what happened, that he isn't, strictly speaking, a killer. That what happened isn't murder, but something more primal than that. How could Stiles, a human, understand such things, especially when there aren't words for them?

"I know he will," Stile says, linking his arm through Derek's, hoisting Ruby up with his other arm and grunting with the effort of it as the action pulls on his injured ribs. "You're a good, Papa, Derek. A good man to love. A good leader."

"I almost got us killed," Derek hisses back, and rubs a soothing hand on Thomas' back when the little boy's muscles grow taut. "If I hadn't..."

"Derek." Stiles' voice is tired, like they've had this conversation a million times and it's wearing on him, and maybe they have, just not in so many words.

"It's okay to take a night off every once in awhile and let your guard down. This, what happened tonight, is not your fault. It isn't. So, stop blaming yourself. Stop brooding. Just...stop." And Stiles stops walking, just before they've reached the porch.

He looks so small and vulnerable, and yet so strong, in the cool light of the moon. Derek's breath catches in his throat and he feels overcome with love and fear, and, once again, pride. Stiles might be human, and fragile, and everything that he's not, but he's still standing, still fighting, still holding on to Derek and loving him, no matter what. Stiles is the bravest person that Derek knows, and it humbles him. Makes him realize that he's got something worth holding onto, in more ways than one.

"Stop and hold on to what you've still got. Know that it's okay to let loose every now and again and enjoy yourself. This didn't happen because you were enjoying yourself for once. It happened because it happened. It could have happened last night, tomorrow night, a month from now. It could have happened at any time, regardless of whether or not you were having fun," Stiles finishes, a small smile on his lips, and he turns toward Derek, kisses him on the cheek, his eyes are filled with love and lust and trust.

Derek swallows, nods, though he still blames himself. He can't_ not_ blame himself. Stiles shakes his head, and Derek knows that Stiles understands what he's thinking, that he's not fooled by the nod.

"C'mon, you big lug, let's go and get these cleaned up," Stiles says, "and tend to our wounds."

Derek smiles at that, feeling stupid and petty and like maybe he should have his head checked out, because the idea of tending to his lover's wounds shouldn't make him horny, but it does. He lets Stiles take the lead as they enter the house. They ignore the crew seated on the couch – Scott and Isaac look like they haven't moved, Allison and her father are sitting beside the pair, on edge, and yet less tense than they'd been earlier.

Thomas refuses to release his hold on him, which is a first, so Derek has no choice but to enter the tub with him, to coax him out of his blood-matted clothing, and wash the blood from the little boy. It's everywhere. In his hair, beneath his nails, on every inch of his skin, like the boy's bathed in it, and Derek has no doubt that they'll find bits of flesh nestled between his teeth when they floss.

Washed, toweled and dried, Thomas settles against Derek's chest, his grip on the werewolf still tight, drawing comfort and support from him in a way that he's not done before now. It suddenly strikes Derek just how young the twins are, how he and Stiles are responsible for raising them right and ensuring their safety. It's daunting and dizzying, and Derek presses the boy closer to him, offering what he can, now that the damage has been done.

"It's like the before," Ruby says around a yawn.

They're all nestled in the living room, as though afraid to leave it, to leave each other. Stiles and Derek share the armchair, each adorned with a child. Peter and the sheriff are sitting amiably enough beside each other on the loveseat that Stiles had insisted on buying from a rummage sale just last week, to, "accommodate" the growth of their, "extended family."

In pairs, the rest of them, save for Peter and the sheriff, who each go in alone, take their turn in the bathroom, cleaning up, and returning to take up their respective space in the living room. The animals, who'd scattered during the fray, turn up, eventually, seemingly out of the woodwork, some of them licking at bloody claws and wounds, and take up positions near the mix of humans and werewolves. Everyone's dozing, except for the tight knit family.

"What's like the before?" Stiles asks, his eyelids heavy. He's tired, and Derek knows that it won't be long before the young man is snoring beside him. He'll remain awake, to ensure that those with concussions wake and don't require a trip to the emergency room.

"The bad men," Ruby says, her fingers are playing with a loose thread in Stiles' robe. "They tried to get me and Tommy," her voice is small, trembling, her eyes filled with sadness and anger. "But Tommy wouldn't let them get me."

Derek's heart feels heavy, and he presses a kiss to the little boy's head, rubs his hand down the boy's spine, because Thomas stiffens at his sister's words, and signs, _Bad men dead, sorry._

"You've nothing to be sorry for," Derek whispers harshly. "You did the right thing, protected your family, your pack."

"We couldn't protect Mommy and Daddy," Ruby says, tears slipping down her cheeks. "The bad men hurted them, hurted Tommy."

"Shh, it's over now," Stiles assures the little girl. "It's over now, and you've got Papa to protect you."

Derek's stomach falls at that, because he hadn't protected Thomas from what had happened tonight. Hadn't protected the little boy from being taken by one of the hunters, and being forced into a corner, forced to kill, again. Hadn't protected any of them.

Ruby nods, lets her eyes close and places her hand on Derek's. A sign of trust that he feels he doesn't deserve.

"Don't go there, Derek," Stiles warns. "It wasn't your fault. You can't be everywhere."

"I should have been there for Thomas. Should never have let that pig lay a finger on him," Derek says, tightening his grip on the boy.

"It's okay, Papa," Ruby says, patting his hand. "You did good."

A sob bubbles forth from Derek's chest, before he can stop it, and he's gathered into his family's arms. Held close. Thomas signing, _It's okay, papa_, against his chest.

That's how they fall asleep, comforting each other, and none of them notice the surreptitious snapping of photos taken quietly with phones silenced by muting the sound, the morning after. They don't wake until the sound of laughter, the smell of blueberry pancakes, sausage, and eggs make their stomachs rumble, collectively.

The sheriff and Peter are trussed up in Stiles' aprons, each holding up a metal spatula and talking animatedly about something that Derek isn't sure he really wants to pay attention to as he shuffles into the kitchen with Thomas' arms wrapped around his neck, and the little boy peering, shyly at the motley crew that's taken up residence in their small kitchen.

Derek inwardly groans as he realizes that he's going to make a few more additions to their home, because he knows that this won't be the last time they gather together for breakfast. He doesn't want it to be the last time, either, and that's a little too much revelation for him to consider right now.

All he wants is a cup of coffee and a quiet corner in which to watch his pack unwind. At some point in time, Lydia and Scott's mother must've arrived, because they're setting the table, and tutting about the injuries Isaac and Scott are still sporting, thanks to the silver involved.

It's all a little too surreal, how much this reminds him of what he'd lost as a teen, and what he hopes to never lose again. Stiles, with Ruby in tow, enters the room, and, it's like he's come home, like nothing bad has happened, like he hasn't a care in the world. Derek hopes that Stiles never loses that, the way that he can bounce back, and exude innocence, no matter what happens in the future.

Stiles catches his eye, gives him a tight smile, and Derek knows that it's an act, that Stiles is doing what he always does. Giving people what they need - a splash of humanity and a smattering of humor and love. Derek's heart fills, once again, with an overwhelming sense of pride and love and something that doesn't have a name, other than, Stiles.

In the aftermath of the attack on his family, Derek can't help but to feel grateful for what he has. In short, all that matters in the world, joking and laughing, smiling, in the small space of his kitchen. Thomas sighs contentedly, snuggles against Derek's chest, his warm breath curling across Derek's neck. Love, Thomas signs, and Derek kisses the top of his head.

"I love you too," he says, sharing a knowing look with Stiles.

He'd failed in keeping Thomas from the danger, failed in protecting him from having to do something no little child should have to, and the fact that he'd had to do this before is no consolation whatsoever. The before is something that Derek has no control over, and he can't change the past, but he can make damn sure that Thomas and Ruby's, hell, even Stiles' and the rest of his family's lives are safer, and better by being the leader that he needs to. The leader Peter, Scott, Isaac, even the sheriff, have been pushing him to be - their faith in him both humbling and irksome.

As he's passed a plate with a tower of pancakes, enough maple syrup dripping off of them to give him cavities, a mound of eggs and a pile of meat that's sure to clog his arteries, he vows to protect this, and smiles when Thomas scoots to sit on his lap, and reaches for a sausage, a sign that some of the shock is starting to wear off. Ruby and Stiles join him in his corner of the kitchen, each digging into their own full plates with a gusto that he's never seen before. His heart swells with love and joy that it's not known since he lost his first family, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he feels whole.

* * *

Not sure if I have any readers left, it's been so long. Please review, let me know that you still want more, that you're reading, that you don't hate me for what Thomas did. Thanks


	14. Bad Dreams

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

* * *

Derek wakes with a start. Instinctively placing himself protectively in front of Stiles, he catalogs the familiar shadows and sounds of their bedroom, quickly sifting out what belongs from what doesn't. _Stiles' soft, steady snore, the creaking of the house as it settles, the Hell cat's wheezy breathing, the she-wolf's susurration, a frantically beating heart coming from the beside the bed..._

Frowning, Derek carefully rolls to the other side of the bed and peeks over the edge, searching for the owner of the heartbeat. He's ready to take out any possible danger to his family that, for whatever crazy reason, might be lurking there.

It's Thomas, holding a bedraggled looking elephant by its trunk (a treasured and much loved gift from Scott and Isaac). His eyes are shining a feral yellow in the dark, and his bottom lip is quivering. He's on the verge of tears and Stiles is on the other side of the bed, oblivious, quietly snoring the night away. Just a few moments ago, Derek had been right there with him.

There's a small part of him that wishes he was still asleep, that Thomas had gone to Stiles' side of the bed and woke his Dada instead, because Stiles is better at this. Better at giving comfort, at making things 'better', at making the monsters that nightmares dredged up go away. He'd done it often enough for Derek, soothing him back to sleep with whispered assurances and soft, settling touches.

"Hey, buddy, what's wrong?" Derek whispers, not wanting to wake Stiles in spite of his fear that he won't be able to give Thomas what he needs. That he won't be able to comfort the little boy.

In answer, Thomas lifts his arms and sniffs back a tear that falls anyway. The yellow of his eyes softens a little, reminding Derek of just how young he is, how completely vulnerable and innocent he is. He doesn't remember being that young. Doesn't remember his mother and father soothing him back to sleep after a bad dream. He didn't have many bad dreams when he was younger, though. He'd been safe and secure before his parents' deaths. Had taken the good that he'd had in his young life for granted.

Derek reaches for the little boy, whose ears are soft and furry in his partial transformation, and lifts him easily.

_He's too light,_ Derek thinks. He has no idea how much a boy Thomas' age should weigh. He'll have to ask Deaton, or Mr. Stilinski. Stiles' father is a treasure trove of information and has been an invaluable help to them as they bumble through parenting the twins. He's a wonderful grandfather as well, and the twins love spending time with him.

He moves to place Thomas on the bed, but the boy shakes his head and clings to him, buries his face into Derek's chest.

The sound of quiet sniffles makes Derek's heart clench and his throat close up. He rests a hand on Thomas' back and starts to rock him, whispers words that he hopes will comfort the boy who's clutching a fistful of Derek's chest hair with one hand, while his other hand still has a tight hold of the stuffed elephant, Scai.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Derek croons, unconsciously mimicking a tone that Stiles often uses with the twins when they're hurt or upset. It's a tone Stiles has often used with Derek as well.

Thomas shakes his head and the whiskers on his still altered face tickle Derek's chest. Snot, from the little boy's runny nose, is smeared across Derek's chest, making him feel a little like a glorified handkerchief.

"Did you have a bad dream?"

There's a slight pause in the sniffling and a hitched breath, and then hesitant nodding. The hand gripping Derek's chest hair makes the sign for, _yes_.

Derek's heart sinks and he holds the little boy tighter, willing the memories that fuel these nightmares to go away. He's lived through years of nightmares and wants better for his son. Better for all of them.

"Papa's got you now," he assures the little boy, kissing the top of his head, uncertain of his words.

"I won't let anything bad happen to you." The words catch in his throat because he's already broken that promise, already failed Thomas and Ruby, his family, when those hunters came and attacked them.

Derek watches in amazement as Thomas begins to shift back into a child. The trust that the little boy is placing in him, in spite of what happened a few short weeks ago, is enough to make Derek want to be a better man and a better father. It's enough to break him and build him up.

Thomas' breathing starts to even out, the hand clutching Derek's chest hair loses some of its death grip, and Scai gets a stranglehold around his neck as Thomas hugs the stuffed animal, named after Scott and Isaac, close to his chest. Derek rearranges the both of them, getting as comfortable as he can, shifting closer to Stiles, keeping the little boy clutched to his chest, safely ensconced between the two of them - his Papa and Dada - where he belongs.

* * *

As always, please review (happy writers continue to write - reviews are like Scooby Snacks) Thanks so much for those who've been supportive of this. Greatly appreciated.


	15. Future

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Inspired by Shannara810's review (from awhile back now) which suggested the following - "And I think you should analyze Stiles' new life more. Maybe you could have Stiles meeting an old friend from high school now in college?"

* * *

Stiles holds his breath, fixes a smile in place, and turns to face his former classmate. They're in the middle of the aisle that boasts of Mexican food and rice. Stiles was planning a not so little get-together involving his not-so-small-anymore family. The family that he'd inherited when he'd accepted Derek's not-quite-a-proposal-but-close-enough-for-Derek to live with him. Marriage hadn't even factored into the equation as of yet, but Stiles was hoping that, one day, it would.

Running into Miles had not been part of Stiles' plans. He barely remembers his former classmate, now college freshman, though it's clear that Miles remembers him: _"You sat two desks in front of me in Ms. Myers' class." and, "Remember that time in Mr. Hanson's class when you asked to borrow my eraser?" and, "You were always knew all of the answers."_

If Stiles didn't have something wonderful to look forward to when he got home, he'd be feeling more than just a little depressed hearing about all that Miles is doing in college. About what a good time he's having, about how Miles sometimes thinks about Stiles and wonders how he'd answer a particular question.

Miles touches him while he talks. Little, innocuous pats on the arm, an elbow to the ribs, shoulder bumps. Innocent, and yet Miles is blushing, and smiling and Stiles feels so uncomfortable, because, he knows he should remember him, but he doesn't. Knows that he should say more than inane agreements, followed by hollow laughter, and bland smiles.

"So, where are you going to college? You're home for fall break, right?" Miles asks, lightly punching Stiles in the arm.

Stiles' stomach twists, and he bites his lip, looks away. His throat is dry, and he stares at the selection of taco shells that he'd been perusing before Miles stopped him to reminisce about the 'good old days' of high school.

Truth is, he misses staying up late at night studying. Misses learning about something other than supernatural crap. Misses being in a classroom, reading textbooks, writing essays, heck, he even misses teacher lectures, and for a second, maybe longer, he's jealous of Miles, the boy he doesn't even really remember. Jealous of a kid, who, even though he's taking that next step toward true adulthood, still looks like a kid from his pimply face to the feet that he clearly hasn't grown into, because he keeps tripping over them, even though they aren't actually walking. Though, maybe that's just nerves.

"Uh, I'm..." Stiles takes a deep breath, forces himself to meet Miles' earnest gaze – he's got hazel eyes – and he finds himself faltering over the next words, shame coloring his face, because, though his life is full, and he loves being a father alongside Derek, he wants what Miles has. The uncomplicated life of a college freshman who has yet to make a real decision in life. The world is Miles' oyster, and he can make what he will of it. He can choose any career path he wants to; nothing is written in stone for Miles.

"I," Stiles clears his throat, and swallows down the bitter regret that he's been trying so hard to avoid feeling. "I'm taking a year off, you know, to figure out what I want to do."

His words sound hollow and lame to him, and he looks away from Miles, reaches for a box of corn tortillas that have a flat, rather than a rounded bottom, because he thinks it'll be easier for the twins to handle. His heart clenches a little, and his chest feels tight, and, if he doesn't get a handle on the can of worms that Miles has inadvertently opened up for him, he's going to have an emotional breakdown in the middle of the Mexican aisle of the grocery store.

"Oh," Miles says, and Stiles doesn't need to be looking at the other boy's face to know that he's frowning in disappointment, maybe even pity. "That's cool."

Except the tone of his voice communicates the opposite, that it isn't cool, and that Miles, a boy Stiles doesn't remember, feels sorry for him. Stiles grabs another box of the flat bottomed corn tortillas, they'll be easier for Scott to handle as well. He'll need to get some soft flour, or maybe wheat, or rice tortillas, because he knows that his father and Derek prefer those to the hard shell tacos. Thinks Isaac and Deaton might prefer them as well. Doesn't really know what Alison and her father like, or what Peter Hale enjoys munching on when it's not other people's feelings.

"Well, I guess, I'll uh, see you around," Miles says, his voice softening a little. He places a hand on Stiles' shoulder, squeezes, and Stiles smiles woodenly at him, watches him as he walks away, leaving the Mexican aisle without adding so much as a taco seasoning packet to his handheld basket.

Stiles forces his mind away from the images that Miles' words have brought to mind. Images of sitting in a lecture hall, surrounded by hundreds of classmates, taking notes while a stuffy professor drones on about philosophy or psychology. Images of returning to his dorm room, only to find a sock or a tie or some other sign that his dorm mate is getting it on, forcing him to go to the library, or a friend's dorm room. Late nights spent studying. Maybe going to a house party, or twenty. Goofing off with college friends, rather than planning a faux Mexican dinner for an extended family that he loved more than anything.

"You should take some classes at the community college." Derek's voice, though it is soft, startles him, and Stiles places a hand over his heart, which is beating a hundred miles a minute.

"You really should wear a bell," Stiles says, instead of what he _should_ say, what he wants to say, but doesn't have the words to say. Which is a first for him. Him not having words.

"We can work it out," Derek says, voice firm, eyes a stormy blue-green with worry and love.

"So, you, ah heard all of that?" Stiles asks.

Derek nods, places his hand on Stiles' lower back, and Stiles leans into him, taking the comfort and support that the man he loves is offering him.

"I don't want to hold you back from pursuing your dreams," Derek says, lips brushing against Stiles' temple.

Stiles' throat constricts, and tears threaten to fall, and all he can think about right now – because if he doesn't, he'll become a puddle of wet tears in the middle of the Mexican aisle – is whether or not he should go with a taco seasoning packet, or make his own taco seasoning. He'd seen a recipe for it on the Cooking Network's website, and it had looked simple enough.

Derek presses a kiss to the top of his head, and Stiles strives to match his breathing to that of Derek's, his, cliché or not, soul mate. Knows that, if he can just get his breathing, and his heart rate under control, he can regain control of his life. The life that he'd loved and was perfectly content with before Miles had interrupted it with his talk of college life.

"I've got everything I want," Stiles says, voice quiet, heart kind of believing what his mouth is saying.

"No, you don't."

Derek snags a package of soft corn tortillas from the shelf and tosses them into the cart that Stiles had commandeered. Derek was supposed to be getting tortilla chips, which were in an entirely different aisle, and, judging by the fact that half the cart is now filled with a variety of tortilla chips – blue and white corn, and the regular yellow – he'd wiped out a third of the chips on the shelf.

"It's okay to want a college education," Derek says it like it's a matter-of-fact observation, like Miles' words hadn't nearly sent Stiles into a mild panic attack, caused his life to pass before his eyes in a series of pictures of what might have been had his life not been derailed by werewolves. By Derek, and Scott, and Ruby and Thomas. His life is not his own. It hasn't been for a very long time.

"But it's not practical," Stiles counters. "We've got Ruby and Thomas to think abou – "

Derek cuts him off with a kiss. It's not a toe-curling kiss, or one that makes the world around them dissolve into nothing, or a kiss that melts his insides. It's just a simple, ordinary kiss that somehow manages to calm Stiles' mind, get his breathing and his heart back under control.

"We'll work it out," Derek promises, his eyes a steely blue-green that Stiles can't argue with, because they promise him more than Derek's words ever can. They promise him a future, stability, and something that Miles, if he's lucky, will someday have – love.

Stiles smiles and nods, plucks a jar of mild salsa off of the shelf, and shakes his head when Derek growls, and reaches across him to grab a jar of the hot salsa. He might not be where he'd dreamed he'd be at this time in his life, back when he'd allowed himself to dream of the future, but he likes where he is, and where he's going, and, if college factors into the equation, well, he won't argue against it.

* * *

Reviews encourage me to continue writing. Thanks to those who've encouraged me in the past.


	16. Chocolate Bunnies and Birthday Gifts

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** AU. This is imperfect.

* * *

Stiles grips the wheel of his jeep hard enough to make it creak, and slams a fist into the dashboard. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing.

_Don't lose your shit in the parking lot where they can see you,_ he tells himself. Forces breath in and out of his nose, because his throat and chest are getting a little too tight.

He wants to go back into the mall - he'd been looking for a birthday present for Derek - and slam a fist into the face of one of the assholes who'd had the audacity to try to pick a fight with him in the middle of the specialty store he'd walked into.

Rather than confront the three young men who'd attempted to draw him into a fight, he'd left, abandoning his goal. His life, in a way.

_Fled is more like it,_ Stiles chastises himself, rubbing his head across the top of the steering wheel.

It's not like people didn't talk about him and Derek, or that they had been readily accepted as a couple. That people, like the three dicks in the store, were supportive of the lifestyle that they'd chosen. It wasn't even the first time that he'd been approached by people who were less than thrilled with the choices that Stiles and Derek had made in life.

What made it worse this time, though, was that the twins had been brought into it. Scott and Isaac, too. Though, Scott and Isaac could handle themselves, and the insinuations that they were part of some unholy orgy with Stiles and Derek. The twins; however, were innocents in all of this, and didn't deserve the gossip or the threats. They deserved better than that - a chance at a childhood that they'd nearly been robbed of when Stiles had happened upon them.

"It's not worth it," Stiles says aloud, whispers, really, hoping that saying the words aloud will help them to sink in. "_They're _not worth it."

They aren't, but it doesn't stop his heart from aching at what had been said, or a lone tear from slipping down his cheek. He brushes it away angrily, and bites his tongue on a curse. A determined look on his face, Stiles leaves the jeep and walks back into the mall, because he still needs to get a birthday present for Derek.

_Let them talk, _he thinks. He squares his shoulders and forces himself to look at those who walk past him, and smile.

His feet falter when he reaches the store where the three former classmates of his and Scott's had been. They were on college breaks, had been talking about their courses of study, drinking and girls when they'd switched gears and had started to verbally attack Stiles, cornering him toward the back of the store.

Stiles clenches his hands into fists, willing them to stop shaking. _Talk is cheap,_ he reminds himself. Imagines what Derek would do if he caught wind of what had happened at the store today and smiles, almost laughs aloud at the thought of the three young men pissing themselves. There's no doubt in his mind that Derek would instill the fear of multiple gods in them before they went back to their college lives.

Taking a deep breath, because he knows that he's on the verge of a panic attack, Stiles pictures Derek and the twins as he last saw them - Derek clutching a twin in either arm, a look of stoic, almost panic, on his face as he stood in the door, the twins waving goodbye, Thomas signing for Stiles to bring back a chocolate bunny for him, even though it's past Easter, and he's already single-handedly eaten four of them since Easter weekend. Stiles chuckles at the mental picture that he's conjured up. He's never seen Thomas so happy as he was when he was covered head to toe in Easter chocolate.

It's these images which propel Stiles into the store and give him back his breath, allow him to scrutinize the multitude of clothing that the store has to offer before deciding on a couple of items for Derek. Items that, at some point in time, he knows that he will be wearing.

It's as his purchases are being rung up and wrapped that he realizes he's garnered the attention of one of the three young men who had verbally bashed him earlier. The boy, still a teenager, bordering on manhood, like Stiles, is lingering just inside the store, within Stiles' peripheral vision, looking, but not looking at Stiles.

Stiles holds his breath, wills his hands to stay steady, pictures Derek's steely eyes gone bright blue, and Thomas, smiling, covered in chocolate.

_You've got this, _he tells himself, manages to collect the bags of wrapped gifts when the clerk hands them to him. He gives her a smile, answers when she tells him to have a nice day and to, "Come again," though he's not really paying attention, and his heart feels like it's trying to jump out of his chest. He doesn't want another confrontation. He just wants to finish his shopping, maybe see if there are still some chocolate bunnies left at one of the outlet stores, and get home to his family.

He smiles when it hits him. Family. He has a family. Something that none of those former classmates of his have.

A hand tugs at his sleeve as Stiles steps out of the store. Stiles stiffens, but doesn't pull away. He doesn't look at the young man, Henry or Paul or Wally, he can't remember.

The hand slips, and the other boy seems to shrink a little. "Hey, uh...Stiles?"

Stiles' jaw clenches and he turns to look at his former classmate. He swallows the angry words that are on the tip of his tongue at the look of pain and humiliation on the other boy's face. Bites his lip when he's motivated to ask what's wrong.

The boy's cheeks are flushed, and his brown eyes are shining with something that Stiles can't, maybe doesn't want to, identify. "I, uh, I'm sorry about earlier."

It's a small consolation as the earlier jibes ring in Stiles' ears, and the boy doesn't quite meet Stiles' gaze.

"Bill and Carl, they, they don't..."

Stiles doesn't shake the boy's hand off when he reaches to touch his arm again as understanding, and sympathy flood him.

_Derek's right,_ he thinks_. I'm much too empathetic. _

Stiles shrugs, takes a deep breath, and says, "It's alright."

It's not alright. It will never _be_ alright, but he gets it. He just hopes that Henry, or Paul, or Wally, _whoever_, will get it, and that he'll be able to free himself of the toxic thinking of people like Bill and Carl.

_Derek will kill me if I bring home another stray,_ he reminds himself as he looks into the now terrified, half-pleading brown eyes of the other boy.

"No, it's not," the boy says. "I'm sorry, I..."

"I get it," Stiles says. "It's not easy, but nothing that's worthwhile in life is easy. Sometimes you have to...sometimes you just have to say fuck it, and forge your own path, no matter what the Bills and Carls of the world say."

It's not much, and it's probably too sappy and sentimental to have any merit, but the words are spoken from the heart, and, as Henry, or Paul, or Wally, releases him, Stiles offers the boy, almost man, an encouraging smile. And, in spite of the fact that he knows Derek _will kill _him, he takes one of the gift receipts and writes his phone number on it, presses it into the boy, on the cusp of manhood's hand, before he leaves in search of a chocolate bunny.

* * *

Please leave me a chocolate bunny...I know it has been awhile.


	17. Study Space

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Domestic fluff. It's been awhile.

* * *

Stiles has his textbooks spread out across the work-space that Derek created for him. It's nothing elaborate, but it's Stiles' own space, and it's nestled between their bedroom and the kitchen - a gentle, if overt, reminder for Stiles to take study breaks and eat. Something which he sometimes forgets to do when he gets absorbed in his studies.

There's the desk and chair set from Stiles' childhood home, a brand new computer (funded by one of the scholarships Stiles had applied for), and the window at his back gives Stiles a view of the slightly dilapidated garden that their new, full-time boarders - Scott and Isaac - are attempting to coax into life. Eventually, it's supposed to provide the family with edible vegetables and herbs.

Cheap rent, and no awkward questions, are what finally sold Scott and Isaac on renting the room that Derek had built onto the side of the house for just that purpose, without, of course telling anyone. He'd left that up to Stiles. The added income, though it isn't much, and Stiles' dogged application for scholarships, are, in part, what make it possible for Stiles to take classes at the university.

The fact that over half of those classes are online, is a bonus, and saves on gas money, ensures that he doesn't miss out on moments like this: Derek playing outside with Ruby and Tom, tossing them in their air, their giggles, carried on the wind, reaching Stiles and making his heart sing. He loves his family.


	18. Existentialism

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** I asked my roommate for a word, because inspiration has not been happening of late, and she said, "Existentialism." This is what that word inspired. Not at all what I expected, but I was happy to be able to write for the first day of NaNo's summer camp.

* * *

"/ˌeɡzəˈsten(t)SHəˌlizəm/  
noun  
a philosophical theory or approach that emphasizes the existence of the individual person as a free and responsible agent determining their own development through acts of the will."

Stiles read the definition aloud for the sixth, or maybe seventh time, and frowned. Scratching his head with the eraser on his pencil, he sighed. The words swam on the page, and he blinked to clear his vision, and then tried to stifle a yawn.

It was late. He was sitting, cross legged, in the middle of his study room, papers and books strewn around him in tidy piles. The light of the full moon was spilling in through the window, and Stiles was bathed in it, giving him an ethereal glow that he was completely unaware of, but which Derek was currently relishing from where he stood, watching from just inside the open door.

"Come to bed," Derek said, voice a soft growl that held a touch of lust, and a touch of impatience. He'd been watching Stiles study for the past hour and a half, and it looked like his lover's seemingly endless energy was starting to wane.

Stiles opened his eyes wide, because blinking wasn't working, and bit back another yawn. Shaking his head, he reached for the book that lie open before him.

Truth was that he was completely exhausted, and sleep sounded really good, but he had a final in the morning, and he was having a hard time wrapping his head around...everything it seemed.

Calculus, philosophy, twentieth century English, and music appreciation were proving to be more difficult to fit into his schedule than he'd initially thought. Balancing his classes and his family was a challenge that he'd thought he was ready for after surviving high school and all of the supernatural crap that went along with having a best friend turned werewolf.

"Sorry," Stiles said. "Philosophy's kicking my ass, and -"

Derek's hand snaked around him, and he easily plucked the book from Stiles' hands, ignoring the token protest that Stiles made in response to the interruption to his studies. Sitting down behind his lover, Derek drew Stiles back against his chest, and kissed the corner of his mouth, the hollow of his ear, and the nape of his neck, enjoying the way that Stiles melted into him, and sighed in contentment.

"I have to study," Stiles said in a voice that trailed off into nothingness as Derek started to massage his shoulders and upper back, fingers deftly working hard knots loose. Stiles groaned and bent forward, giving Derek better access to his sore back.

"Feels good," he murmured, and Derek grunted in response, placing a kiss on each of Stiles' shoulder blades, making Stiles shiver and bite his lip.

"Come to bed," Derek repeated, voice whisper soft and almost pleading with his lover. "You'll do fine on your exams."

Stiles shook his head, but stilled when Derek's thumb worked at a particularly sore spot on his lower back, bringing tears to his eyes.

"Fuck," he breathed out the word, and held his breath as Derek worked his magic, rendering the knot, and Stiles, into a puddle of quivering goo - figuratively speaking - under his touch.

"Come to bed," Derek spoke the words directly into Stiles' ear, making him shudder. "Existentialism has nothing on the fate that brought us together," he whispered in a way that was both seductive and possessive, making Stiles believe the truth of his words, though they went against what his philosophy professor would have him believe; that there was no such thing as fate, that life is ruled by us, and is only what we make of it.

Stiles stood when Derek pulled him to his feet, followed his lover to their room, zombie-tired, and sank down into bed. He was asleep - dreaming of wolves and fate, and the choices that he made leading him to all of this - almost before his head hit the pillow, unaware that Derek stayed up, watching him as he slept, only sinking down into sleep himself once Stiles lost the look of stress and worry that had been marring his face for the past few weeks, arms wrapped protectively around Stiles, holding him close, keeping him safe.


	19. Mine

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** Inspired by the following comment by, RollieZCheezKake: "How about Thomas and Ruby gets into an argument over a toy or something, and they eventually work it out through a fluffy moment." I think this is off the mark, so I may have to try to do this again. This features Stiles with the twins. I hope that's okay.

**A/N2:** Thank you simplyn2deep for catching the double-paste. I have fixed it.

* * *

Thomas stomps his foot, and uses the hand not clutching what looks to Stiles like a torn bit of cloth, to sign the words, 'No! Mine! Leave alone!'

Ruby glares at her brother and launches herself at him with fingernails turned to claws. She tears at her brother's arm, trying to take the cloth from him, and for the life of him, Stiles can't figure out why either of them want the ratty bit of cloth.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. One moment the two had been sitting side-by-side, Ruby coloring in the book that her grandpa had gotten as a gift to spoil her, Thomas practicing writing the letter R in the primer he'd gotten from Isaac, and Stiles had felt that it would be okay for him to sneak into the kitchen to start lunch. The next thing he knew, there was a loud cry, and Stiles ran into the living room to find that they were both on opposite sides of the room, circling, and snarling at each other.

The item that they are fighting over looks like something that they'd dug out of the trash, and Stiles can't see anything special about it.

"Let go!" Ruby shouts, and she claws her brother's arm, drawing blood, but Thomas merely takes a step back, holding onto the scrap of cloth as though his life depends on it.

"That's mine, Thomas, give it to me," Ruby says, slashing at her brother.

Thomas signs, 'No. Mine,' and clutches it closer to his chest.

Stiles has never seen them like this before. Sure, they've fought before, according to his father, and Dr. Deaton, it's common for siblings to fight, but they've never fought with each other like this, and never over something as silly as a bit of blue cloth. He's momentarily at a loss for what to do as both children ignore his shouted order to, "Stop."

Ruby swipes at her brother, completely ignoring Stiles' voice. Thomas turns his shoulder into his sister's attack, taking another claw to the back, making Stiles dizzy with worry, and at the sight of the fresh, freely flowing blood that seeps through the tears in the little boy's tee-shirt.

Stiles has never had much of a stomach for blood, and living with a pack of werewolves hasn't changed that. If anything, he's gotten more squeamish. Even with supernatural healing, Stiles has still had to patch up far more gruesome injuries than he'd like, and he has a feeling that, when this fight is over, he's going to have some major patching up to do. Not only of the twins, but of himself, because it's clear that he's going to have to step in before the two tear each other limb from limb.

Both children are partially transformed, and, though he knows that it's a risk going in between the two of them, and that potential bloody injuries are really the least of his worries, Stiles knows that he doesn't really have a choice. If he lets the fight continue on the way that it's going, he's worried that they'll end up killing each other.

Taking his life in his hands, Stiles draws in a deep breath, and wades into the thick of the fight. He whistles, the sound, harsh and loud in his own ears, doesn't even faze the children. They continue fighting, a whirl of tangled limbs, and partial cat appendages. Stiles thinks he sees a tail, and the furry tip of a bloodied ear.

Thomas still has the torn cloth in his hand, stubbornly holding it in a tight fist, keeping it away from Ruby's frenetically scratching claws.

'This wouldn't be happening if Derek, or even Scott or Isaac was home,' Stiles can't help thinking a little bitterly.

The twins both deferred to any of the three wolves in almost everything. Ruby occasionally fought her Papa over bedtime when something that she wanted to watch was on TV, and Thomas had the big bad wolf wrapped around his little finger. Now that he was no longer terrified of Derek, Thomas was starting to learn how to manipulate his Papa into getting what he wanted. Both could easily get away with murder.

All three wolves were at an important week long summit for were folk, though, and wouldn't be back for another three days. Stiles regrets telling Derek that he could handle the twins on his own. Hindsight has definitely decided to bite him in the ass.

"Ruby, Thomas, stop." Stiles' attempt to raise his voice above the din that the twins are making is unimpressive.

He tries to channel his father's most authoritative tone of voice and takes a deep breath. Placing a hand on each child, and biting back a curse when a claw catches him in the side, Stiles ignores the flash of pain, and draws up to his full height.

He's never going to be as impressive, or as hulking in presence as Derek, but the twins are much smaller than he is, and maybe if he acts the part of an alpha, it'll work and they'll stop fighting so he can patch them all up. If not, he's in for a world of hurt, and the rest of the pack is liable to come home to a bloody mess in the living room.

"Enough!" Stiles feels like he's roaring, and, though he takes another claw to his already burning side, the fighting ceases, and the living room is filled with the sounds of sobbing and heavy breathing.

Both children sag against his legs, panting. Thomas is holding onto Stiles' leg with the same hand he's got the bit of blue cloth in, keeping it safe, and Ruby's got an arm wrapped tightly around Stiles' other leg. Her grip is as tight as a vice. He couldn't move if he wanted to, and though he's done nothing more than shout, and attempt to pull the children apart, he's winded, and his side aches, and throbs painfully with each beat of his heart.

"Fu-dge." Stiles breathes the word out, and though his side feels like it's on fire, he places his hands on each of the children's heads, hoping that it'll ground them until he can get his breathing under control.

He closes his eyes, and focuses on his breathing, because the last thing he needs right now is a full-blown panic attack. Both children are hurt and bleeding, and he can feel blood flowing rather freely from the wounds in his side. The twins will heal supernaturally, wounds knitting together relatively quickly, but if any of the wounds are deep, they'll need to be cleaned and dressed.

Breathing under control, Stiles opens his eyes and fights off a wave of dizziness. Spots of bright sparking light crowd his vision, and the sound of ringing invades his ears, and for a moment he worries that he's going to faint. He bites his tongue, and waits out the dizziness.

"Sit." Stiles doesn't dare lose the tone he'd managed to emulate from his father, in spite of his surprise that, not only had he managed to conjure it up, but also that it had worked as well as Derek's growled commands did.

The twins loose their hold on him so quickly that Stiles stumbles forward. He just manages to catch himself on the edge of the armchair, and he leans against it for support. The twins scramble up onto the couch as quickly as possible, and sit on opposite ends of it, keeping as far away from each other as they can.

Tears glistening in their eyes, and clinging to their lashes, they glare at each other. It's a rather pathetic looking picture, and Stiles doesn't know if he's got the physical or emotional energy to deal with whatever the hell is going on between the two.

His side throbs painfully, in sync with each beat of his heart, and Stiles worries that maybe he'd gotten more than just a few scratches, that maybe the injuries are deeper than he thought they were. He doesn't have time to assess his own injuries right now, though, and a quick, cursory exam of each child reveals that their wounds, while bloody, and numerous, are superficial. Some of them are even starting to heal on their own.

"I want answers." Stiles clings resolutely to the borrowed tone of voice, wondering if this was as hard for his father to maintain as it is for him.

The twins stop glaring at each other long enough to look at him, and Stiles presses his fingers into the plush chair to keep from caving at the trembling lips, and the stifled sobs, and the watery eyes that he's met with. He squares his jaw, and lifts an eyebrow, refusing to give into the urge to offer comfort until after he knows what the hell was going on, and why the two were engaged in a bloody battle over a piece of torn cloth smaller than a tissue.

'Mine,' Thomas signs. It's a small gesture, though, and the little boy's fingers tighten protectively around his treasure. He casts a look in his sister's direction, breath shuddering in his chest, before returning his pleading gaze to Stiles.

"No, it's not." Ruby sniffs, tears threatening to fall as she looks at Stiles, bottom lip trembling.

Stiles narrows his eyes at the little girl, and she pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth, and swallows down another sniffle. Her claws retract, and her cat ears recede. Thomas's tail disappears, and he blinks back tears.

Stiles knows now why his father often did this in the kitchen, with a cup of coffee in front of him. It had to be what kept him from saying something, and gave him a handy prop to help prolong the painful silence that often saw Stiles spilling his guts to his father when he was younger. Silence, Stiles is quickly discovering, is a powerful tool for interrogation.

Ignoring the knifing pain in his side, Stiles watches with an almost cool detachment as Ruby squirms in her seat, and casts furtive glances in Thomas's direction. The little boy, fingers wrapped around the blue cloth, shoulders hunched, looks defeated, but determined.

Before Thomas can finish signing, 'It is, I found it,' Ruby's launching herself across the length of the couch, and Stiles can't get there fast enough to keep the already torn cloth from tearing even further.

Thomas starts silently sobbing, pressing the remaining section of cloth that he's managed to keep hold of, small as a postage stamp, to his nose and rubbing it. Ruby's grinning in triumph, holding the ratty piece of cloth up to her face and breathing it in, and Stiles has to fight off another bout of dizziness as he makes his way over to the couch. He falls heavily to the couch, and positions himself between the twins, though they're no longer fighting.

Thomas presses himself to Stiles' side, heedless of his adoptive father's injuries, and holds onto him as hard as he'd been holding onto the cloth that he and Ruby had been fighting over. It's hard for Stiles to be mad at either of them as Ruby settles in beside him, too, a low, content rumble coming from her chest. It's something that Derek does, too, after a particularly stressful experience is over. It's comforting, and Stiles thinks he understands what's happened, but he has to confirm it before he can properly address, and then fix it, and then patch himself up.

"Is that a piece of Papa Derek's tee-shirt that Daddy was going to patch up?" Stiles asks, keeping his voice quiet and even, another tone that he's borrowing from his father, knowing first hand how well it works.

Ruby and Thomas both stiffen. Thomas nods, but Ruby draws a deep breath.

"Thomas did it. He tore up Papa's shirt," Ruby confesses, voice hard and accusatory. "He didn't share."

Hot tears wet Stiles' damaged side, and Thomas's silent sobs increase in intensity at his sister's words. Stiles tries hard not to let the pain he's in color his tone of voice. His heart aches, and he's still dizzy, and Derek won't be home for another three days.

In spite of her harsh words, Ruby's close to tears, too, and Stiles realizes that all of them are missing Derek, and it's up to him to be the adult here. He doesn't want to, because he's hurt, and when he thinks about Derek, he can feel the coolness of his partner's side of the bed. It's empty, and Stiles is alone with a houseful of the strays that he's taken in, and he feels abandoned. He knows it's irrational and that a week is just a blip in time, but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with.

He pushes aside the gaping hole in his own heart, and pulls the twins close, comforting them as best he can. "Sh, it's okay. Papa's going to be home before you know it."

Ruby clutches at Stiles' arm. "Promise?"

Stiles rubs Ruby and Thomas's backs, relieved as both relax against him. "I promise. I know that a week seems like a really long time, but the week is almost over. He'll be back before the quarter moon."

Ruby sniffs and buries her face against his side. "Mama and first Papa never came back," she says quietly, and Thomas's grip on Stiles tightens, making Stiles see stars until he's able to adjust to the pain, and breathe through it. "They promised, too. And they left, and they never came back, and we never even had anything to 'member their scent by. We got lots of stuff to 'member you and Papa's scents."

'Not forget,' Thomas signed against Stiles' side. 'Afraid.'

Stiles closed his eyes, and wondered how the hell his father had coped with his own, and Stiles' pain, after Stiles' mother had died. How had he handled all of Stiles' insecurities? How had he managed to push aside his own pain to put that of his son's first? One day soon, Stiles was going to let his father know just how much he appreciated everything that he'd done for him over the years, now that he finally understood. At least in part.

"I can't promise that nothing will ever happen to your father and I," Stiles says, hating the truth of his words, and the need to say them, but, even if it would be so much easier to do, he refuses to lie to his children. They've already been hurt too much in their young lives. "But I can promise that, if we have to leave, like Papa had to go on this trip, we'll always do everything in our power to come back to you. We love you, and nothing is going to change that."

He presses a kiss to the top of each of their heads, and holds them until their tears dry. More exhausted than he'd been during finals week, and during their latest battle, Stiles pushes himself off of the couch, and wincing as the movement jars the scratches in his side, he leads both children into the bedroom that he and Derek share.

As he opens the dresser drawer that contains Derek's tee-shirts, Stiles wonders why this hadn't occurred to him before Ruby and Thomas had gotten into a bloody fight over a torn corner of one of Derek's old tee-shirts. It had occurred to his dad, even before Stiles' mother had died, to give Stiles something of hers to hold, and bury his face into when things got really hard, and Stiles couldn't think or breathe, or see past the pain of losing her.

Many a panic attack had been averted or assuaged by his mother's favorite pink sweater. Though it's become well worn from use over the years, Stiles still has his mother's pink sweater, and, if he presses his face into it, and breathes deeply, he can still smell her scent - lilacs, vanilla, and lemon.

Stiles remembers every nuance of the day that his father gave the sweater to him. He'd been a little older than the twins at the time, and his mother was very sick, his father was always sad, and Stiles was just confused. His father had brought Stiles into his room, much as Stiles was doing now, and had opened his parents' walk-in closet, waving Stiles in with a sad smile. He'd let his son pick out one item of his mother's clothing to keep with him whenever he wanted his mother to be close, and couldn't be near her for whatever reason.

Stiles does that for Ruby and Thomas now, trying not to think about his mother, about the possibility of losing Derek much too soon. He lets, first Thomas, and then, Ruby, choose one of Derek's tee-shirts to keep, and he silently thanks his father for instinctively knowing that this was what Stiles needed all of those years ago. His simple act was still benefiting Stiles over a decade later as Stiles passed it on to his children.

"Whenever you miss your Papa, all you have to do is press your face into his tee-shirt, and imagine his arms wrapped around you in a great big hug, and he'll be with you, here," Stiles says, repeating his father's words to him, almost verbatim, and pressing the fingers of his left hand to Thomas's chest, and those of his right hand to Ruby's. Both children are watching him with wide, serious eyes, their chosen tee-shirts clutched tightly in their hands.

"And here," Stiles finishes, moving his fingers from the children's hearts to their heads, and smiling at the way that Thomas's face scrunches up as he processes Stiles' words, and the way that Ruby hugs Derek's tee-shirt like a teddy bear. "This way your Papa will always be with you, even when he's away."

Thomas places a hand on Stiles' side, a look of concern on his face, and then on Stiles' arm, and he signs, 'Daddy, too.'

Blinking back tears, and fighting the urge that he has to assure Thomas that it isn't necessary for him to have one of Stiles' tee-shirts, too, Stiles offers the little boy a smile, and opens his drawer. He watches, at first amused as Thomas takes his time looking for the shirt of Stiles' that he wants, but, as he pushes tee-shirt after tee-shirt aside, sifting through the contents of Stiles ' drawer, it dawns on Stiles that this is important to the little boy. Every bit as important to him as that little piece of Derek's tee-shirt had been when he'd fought, tooth and nail, to keep it.

Stiles bites his fist when Thomas finally decides on the shirt that he wants to keep. He buries his face into it, and smiles at Stiles, signing, 'Daddy.'

It's a shirt that Stiles hasn't worn in years, but one that, when he had worn it, he'd rarely taken it off. It's peppered with tiny holes, and the pits are stained gray with sweat. The image of the bat signal has faded over time, but it's still there, and he remembers with fondness, the day that he'd gotten it, back before he'd known about werewolves, and the supernatural. Back when he'd been an innocent geek with dreams of making out with Catwoman, or Batman, or both of them at the same time.

He laughs when Ruby's nose wrinkles up at another of his well worn shirts, tossing it aside in favor of a plaid shirt that Derek has been begging him to get rid of for awhile now. She grins at him, and breathes deeply of, first his, and then Derek's, shirt, a look of bliss on her face that Stiles would've associated with drugs had she been a little older.

It's insane how happy this simple act has made the twins, and Stiles wonders if parenting will get any easier as time goes on, or if he'll always be a bumbling idiot about it, relying, too late, on what he can remember of his own upbringing.

"I'm sorry I scratched you, Daddy," Ruby says, lightly fingering Stiles' side.

It still hurts, but the bleeding has stopped, and the scratches aren't as deep as he'd feared they were. He won't need stitches, or butterfly bandages.

"It's okay, honey," Stiles says, cupping her face in his hand. "Just…"

"I won't do it again, I promise, Daddy." Ruby hugs him a little too hard, but Stiles doesn't say anything. Thomas signs an apology and joins the hug.

A few short hours later, his side is still sore, but he's cleaned the scratches, and checked for bites (there are none) and, with Ruby and Thomas' over enthusiastic help, he's well bandaged, and lunch is a success. Nap time goes by without a hitch, both children, and Stiles, exhausted by the emotional aftermath of the afternoon's events.

When Derek calls to check in with him, and the children, Stiles doesn't tell him what happened, knowing that it'll only cause him to worry and leave the summit too soon, and that could potentially result in dire consequences for the pack, and Beacon Hills. He'll explain it to him when he gets back, and they'll discuss, together, how to handle future events that take one of them away from home for an extended period of time.

For now, it's enough to hear Derek's voice, and to hold their children while they tell their Papa that they miss him, each rubbing a tee-shirt underneath their noses, and to kiss each of them turn as Derek reminds them that he loves them very much, and that he'll be back before the quarter moon rises. 


End file.
